


Tethers

by dormiensa



Category: Chinese Mythology, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, F/M, Historical, Light Angst, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was perhaps inevitable that Draco and Hermione were a bonded pair. After all, they had a long family history of complicated relations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of backstory...

In a small village, a woman made the last few sweeps with her broom to rid the house of the last specks of dirt and dust, which she carefully collected and disposed of outside. Shutting the door to prevent the wind from blowing any unclean particles back in, she surveyed the room with satisfaction. After satisfying herself that her young son was safely amusing himself in one corner, she made her way to the kitchen, where she cleaned her hands and gave thought to the preparations needed for the celebratory meal that night. 

At the local shrine, final touches were being made for the gathering of the villagers. As had been the custom for generations uncounted, all would make their way after the evening meal to watch as the red firecrackers, now hanging quietly from the lintel of the shrine’s front door, were lit to scare away the _nian_ beast and ensure another year of peace and prosperity for all.

***

A tired woman with silver hair and silver eyes smiled a weak thanks as she received the squirming bundle from the old midwife. She peered between the folds at the pink little face, still wrinkled and shiny from recent exertions. She smoothed the damp whiffs of hair from her newborn son’s forehead and kissed it tenderly. The squirming quieted, and her son’s tiny wails soon turned to coos of contentment, sensing security. The new mother smiled and bared her breast, coaxing her son’s head and stroking his cheek in encouragement. As he began suckling, she hummed a sweet lullaby that she had heard the women of her ostentation softly sing to their own fledglings. A tiny arrow of pain shot through her at the thought of her ostentation, which she had lost for over a year; tears gathered as she remembered the tender, pointed face of her mate, Timaeus, dead for as long as she had been abandoned. The current matriarch had used Timaeus’ death as the excuse to stage an uprising that had deposed the old matriarch; the vulturous hen had also made sure that the old matriarch’s daughter and successor was blamed for Timaeus’ death and driven from the ostentation so that she could not, in turn, stage an uprising to reclaim her birthright.

The woman sighed and refocussed her attention on her son, who had fallen asleep. She laid him beside her on the bed and tucked the blanket about him. She would watch over him carefully in the upcoming months to ensure he thrived and would make it through his first year. She owed this to her saviour, her son’s father. And when the time came to give him into the care of his father and his father’s wife, she would part from this world, to adhere to the calling of her departed mate to join him in the twilight world.

***

The ship’s captain stretched and moved his head and shoulders to remove the cricks from his neck. He had finally finished updating the ship’s logbook. It had been a long journey, but luck had been with them, and the winds had been fair throughout. If no storm met them, they would arrive at port in a week’s time. He smiled in anticipation. It had been a successful venture, more successful that he had dared dream. He thought of the precious cargo stored safely in the hull of his ship and his grin widened. Patting his breast pocket once more to ensure the letter of introduction was still safe, he rubbed his hands. If all went well, Mr. De Graaf would gape in astonishment once he tasted this new and exotic product brought from the Orient and would, no doubt, be in touch with his many connections to give _them_ a taste of this new drink. Humming cheerfully to himself, the captain stared out of his cabin window, seeing not the stars but the riches that would soon fill his pockets.

***

Jiumei kept close watch of her son as she sat mending clothes. He had squealed with excitement yesterday when his wooden toy had first hovered in mid-air and then galloped circles about his head. If these occurrences continued to happen in the next few weeks, she would tell her husband to ask the scholar next door to write a letter to the appropriate persons of interest. If a scout did come to the village and confirm that her son had special talents, then a road to fame and glory would be opened to him and great honour would come to all the family. After the evening meal, she told herself, she would burn a stick of incense and pray to the ancestors for their assistance in the matter.

***

Aine soaked the cloth in the warmed water and tenderly bathed her son. He stared at her with his laughing silver eyes. She took extra care to make sure that his small tuft of blond hair shone brightly. Her son was to be presented to his father today, and while there was little doubt of a cold reception, she knew humans to be fickle. If his father was displeased, he could very easily turn them both out of doors—and where could she go? She was alone in the world and would be helpless to protect her son from the cold and starvation. It was best to make a good first impression.

When she heard the knock on the door, she made her way to the door, all the while reminding her son to be cheerful for his papa. Aine warmly welcomed the wizard into the tiny cabin and presented his son to him. The blond man stared in awe at the baby in his arms, tears glistening in his limpid blue eyes as his son cooed his greeting. He sat down gingerly, afraid of breaking his precious bundle. Looking up at Aine, the wizard thanked her for this priceless gift to his house. She smiled and asked if he had thought of a name.

“My wife and I decided on a name long ago… before our misfortunes left us in near despair… We would name our first son Gwynant because he would be a blessing from the gods. That name is even more befitting now, for he will embody all the blessings and hopes of the babes who came before him but did not survive beyond the womb.”

“Gwynant, Gwynant Malfoi. Yes, that sounds lovely. Ah, look, he knows that is his name. Clever babe.”

***

Captain van der Meer bought another round of beer for his crew. The meeting had gone very well. Mr. De Graaf loved the tea and paid him for a pound of leaf on the spot. They settled on the evening three days hence for a party to introduce van der Meer to De Graaf’s friends, wealthy and influential individuals who shared his love for all things oriental. If the captain played his cards right, his entire cargo would be sold for a nice profit by month’s end.

He would have to see to getting a proper get-up for the evening. His hair and beard could certainly use a good wash and trim, and perhaps the tailor’s pretty little daughter would lend a willing hand deciding what attire would be appropriate for the occasion. Nothing ostentatious, of course, but he had to convince them that he was a businessman, not just a coarse sailor. In a few years time, if things panned out, he would be sending his own fleet to China.

***

Yaozu sighed. He had been so excited last week to learn he would be commencing his magic lessons. He had spent the last two years learning to read and write. It wasn’t that he was illiterate—he had gone to school in town along with the other village children, but basic reading and writing skills sufficient for a farmer’s son were not nearly enough for his future career. His teachers had told them on the first day of classes that a learned _fazhuan_ had to be literate; there was powerful magic in words. Even the simplest herb master had to know his way around language if he needed to consult texts and write prescriptions for his patients. As a magic specialist, it was imperative to know how to wield words to influence and control the universal forces. That rule had been reiterated so many times by his teachers that it echoed in Yaozu’s dreams.

And now, he was to start proper lessons, only to discover that it was basically more memorization. Who knew there were so many herbs and animal parts that could be used to perform magic? He had already learned the structural concepts of the universe: _yin_ and _yang_ , the five elements. Every living being was a different mixture of these basic forces, and magic was knowing how to harvest or isolate these forces to maintain or manipulate the world around him. That was the responsibility of the _fazhuan_ : to balance and create harmony or to disrupt and evoke change. But before he learned the technique, he had to fully comprehend the tools.

Yaozu looked out the window to gauge the time of day. It would be another hour before the midday meal. After that, there were martial arts lessons with the other fifty-nine students in the courtyard. His teachers had emphasized the need to develop both the mind and the body. No _fazhuan_ would live to see the completion of a spell with a blade or arrow sticking out of his back. And like any tool at hand, a weapon was more than just a defence mechanism; it could be used to channel a spell, so a _fazhuan_ needed to know its composition and how to wield its basic forces. 

Yaozu’s envy of the older students surfaced again. How he wished he could start practising spells! The elders were careful not to reveal the technique of their little magical displays, but they really could not help showing off to the younger students. And they knew to make sure there were no teachers around before they exhibited their prowess now. Two of them had been foolish enough to get caught and had received such scoldings from the irate teachers. “Magic is not a circus act! It is not used to entertain and astonish! Maintenance of order and harmony in the universe is a serious matter…” The teacher had continued in the same vein for some time. The two elders had been punished by being banned from wielding magic for a week and being sent to the kitchens to be errand boys. Cooking three meals a day for sixty students and twelve staff was not easy, so the kitchen workers always welcomed the extra help. In his first year, Yaozu and his fellow classmates were told that they had to report for kitchen duty thrice a week for three hours each session. This was to teach them basic cooking skills and to reinforce the concepts of _yin_ and _yang_ and the five elements. With each successive year, the duration of kitchen duty decreased and the tasks assigned became more specialized. In spite the hardship of working in a hot, busy kitchen, the students quickly learned which worker was most susceptible to flattery so that treats could be wrangled from him or her. Yaozu had discovered that one of the workers was from a neighbouring village, and she would sneak him sweets and goodies that reminded him of home.

At the thought of home, Yaozu’s heart clenched. He had been home several times, during the festivals and holidays, but waves of homesickness still overwhelmed him periodically. And saying goodbye to his mother was always difficult. While he was home, she managed to put on a brave, happy face, but she always broke down in tears as he stepped out the front door. But through her veil of tears, she would also remind him that he had to study hard—if he was diligent, a very comfortable life awaited him, and oh, how proud he would make all the ancestors. He must never forget that this was the hope of his grandfather, who had chosen this particular name for him: that he would bring honour and prestige to the family. _Remember your duty._

***

Mama was scrutinizing him again. Gwynant pretended to be absorbed in playing with his toys. Ever since he had exploded his porridge in a fit of pique—Papa had been so proud—his parents had been watching carefully for another show of magic. And for the other traits. Gwynant was much more curious about these. Papa and Mama would not tell him what they were, only that he should be expressing them sometime in the next year, if he had inherited them from his birth mother.

His birth mother had died a month after his first birthday. Gwynant had very little memory of her. Although, occasionally, he thought he recalled a soft voice humming a lullaby and very bright, shining hair. Papa had told him that he would not love Gwynant any less even if he did not show any magical ability or did inherit the traits from his birth mother. Mama had said the same, although Gwynant rather suspected that she would, especially if he could not do magic. He had overheard her talking with Aunt Caroline about some distant relation whose daughter turned out to be a Squib; Mama had commented that no one in her family had ever suffered such a fate. Aunt Caroline had replied that Mama need not worry, given that his birth mother was a magical being. 

Gwynant didn’t understand this; he looked like all the other wizarding children—wouldn’t he have had horns or walked on four legs if he was part magical being? Papa would only answer that he would be told when he was older. Gwynant really hated being told he was too young to know things. He was the tallest child among his playmates, so shouldn’t that mean he should know more than them? It wasn’t fair. Ian had laughed at him when he admitted that he had never gotten a hold of Papa’s wand to see what sort of spells he could cast. It didn’t matter that Ian had set fire to the carpet; what was important was that he had tried to do magic. And Ian was much shorter than Gwynant. It wasn’t fair!

A sudden cry startled Gwynant. Looking toward the sound, he saw Mama running from the room and yelling for Papa, who was making potions in the cellar. There were splotches of red on the walls. Looking down, Gwynant realized that his favourite toy boat, the one Papa had made for him with magic, was now devoid of colour. Well, Gwynant thought, at least Mama couldn’t be too mad at him for making such a mess.

***

Captain van der Meer watched contently as his young grandson laughed in delight as he explored the garden. The captain had not expected to live long enough to see his first grandchild. Life at sea had wreaked havoc on his body, and his joints constantly ached now. And having bound on a second career as a private tea merchant, he had married late. As had his son. When his son had been old enough to help him with the business, they had capitalized on the father-son partnership to expand the business. Tea had become popular and widespread among the entire populace, thanks, in part, to his friend, Dr. Hendriks, who had loudly hailed it a drink to increase longevity. And so it seemed. The doctor had seen a drop in the number of visits to and from patients complaining of deathly colds and coughs. The captain had been quick to seize the opportunity to market the beverage as a remedy for all sorts of ailments. Young mothers had especially taken to it, giving it to their children and claiming the youngsters were healthier and stronger for it. And, of course, through his son’s contacts in Paris, their business had seen a sharp increase in profit as the drink took hold in that large market. He didn’t trust royals and aristos, but they were certainly good customers.

There had been some concern the past few years as the VOC’s trade routes were slowly being taken over by the British East India Company. Thankfully, as his business grew, the captain had made himself more independent from the state company, only keeping good enough relations to ensure continued usage of the same routes to the Orient; his fortunes were not being significantly affected by the VOC’s financial troubles. As well, through an old English sailor friend he had met in his seafaring days and with whom he had kept in touch, the company now also had a foothold in England as that friend had also turned to doing business. Perhaps, if British East India Company did take over the VOC monopoly, his English friend would assist in making the necessary introductions so that the captain’s company ships could continue to use the trade routes. Again, while dealings with companies owned by a monarchical government chaffed his democratic soul, he was not so foolish to let such politics ruin the enterprise he had worked so hard to build.

The captain’s musings were interrupted when little Willem came up to him, telling him excitedly that he had just given chase to a rabbit that had appeared from the bushes. Did his grandpa want to join him in an adventure to seek more rabbits? Captain van der Meer patted his head affectionately and told him that his knees were too stiff to join in the hunt and that Willem should go ahead but be sure he didn’t stray too far from sight. Willem scurried off.

The captain took a sip of his tea. He had to admit: tea was certainly good for easing the pain, especially when, on extremely trying days, he had been taking to submerging into a tub full of it. This was extravagance, but at his age, if he didn’t take what enjoyment he could and revel in the fruits of his many-yeared labours, then what was the point? All that was missing from perfect happiness was a nice beer. His stomach could no longer handle what had been his only indispensable food item. Yes, it had often substituted for a hot meal in his reckless days. Well, nothing to be done about it. He sipped another mouthful.

***

It had been a horrible day for everyone in the Academy. Yaozu sighed heavily as he undressed for bed. He lay under the covers, thinking over the events of the day and the troubled expressions on the teachers’ faces. Nothing terrible had happened, but certainly, nothing had gone according to plan.

And of course, there was the troubling news that a growing proportion of the populace was being ensnared by opium. In spite the decree from the Shizong Emperor that banned the sale and usage of the plant, the smuggling had not abated. What’s worse, foreign traders were bringing in large and inexpensive quantities from India, in exchange for valuables like tea and silk. Private pockets were being filled while the imperial treasury stood empty. It was an ill-omen.

Winds of change. That was what the masters were whispering to one another. While _fazhuan_ were less opposed to change than the administration—after all, _fazhuan_ throughout history had had a hand bringing administrations to power when needed—they were uncomfortable with change that had neither been instigated by them nor divined. It meant that they would have a hard time controlling the universal forces to prevent the breakdown of peace and order. And it was always the ordinary citizen who suffered the most from any upheaval. And with harvest and trade interrupted, it would take a long time to rebuild social infrastructure. Meanwhile, countless tens of thousands would starve and illness would run rampant.

Yaozu remembered his _I Ching_ lessons that afternoon. The master had berated him for obtaining the same result, accusing him of being inattentive. But when Master Li himself had obtained the same reading, he had been so shaken that he dismissed the entire class. And then, there was the burnt pork dish that _Ah Yi_ Jing had planned for dinner. It was her signature dish, one she had cooked countless times and could probably make in her sleep. She was so embarrassed and upset at herself that she had scalded her hand against the wok while throwing out the inedible food.

All the small injuries from carelessness, the ruined potions, the spells that produced unexpected products, they all pointed to some enormous shift in the universal balance. It was also the year of the monkey, but instead of vibrancy and creativity, the winds seemed to suggest that mischief was to prevail. Yaozu was not one to put a lot of bearing on beliefs that the fate of the world was completely controlled by the heavens, but there was no denying that the fortunes of many would be irreversibly changed in the foreseeable future.

***

Gwynant was ecstatic.

He was the youngest member of the team that was to liaise with the Muggle Ministry and form a joint venture to improve trade relations with China and hopefully circumvent that country’s strict Canton System of trading markets, which allowed only a small section outside the walls of one major southern city to be used to store and trade European goods for Chinese ones. Past embassies sent by the Muggles had failed to lift the ban, but one useful piece of information that they had gleaned was that China had no Statute of Secrecy that segregated their magical and Muggle worlds. In fact, wizards held positions of power in the court of the Emperors and frequently advised their regent on matters of state. 

After several months of secret talks between the few key Muggle government officials and the heads at the Muggle-Liaison Office of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, an agreement had been reached wherein five wizards would travel with one of the Muggle trading ships to attempt to establish relationships with the Chinese magical community. A glowing reference letter from Gwynant’s Potions master had recommended him for the task of applying as a student eager to learn Chinese magic at their prestigious Imperial Academy of Magic. Gwynant would study with them for a year and learn all he could to enhance the Ministry’s knowledge about Chinese theories and practices of magic, the extent of their connections to the imperial court, and the best ways to gain access to key figures at court using these connections. Gwynant was to report to the two wizards assigned to accompany the Muggle ambassadors attempting to negotiate expansion of trade. The remaining two wizards would remain in the trading markets to seek ways to befriend the local magical community. 

In the month of preparation before the Magical-Muggle Embassy set sail, Gwynant and the other four wizards were given intensive courses in the Chinese language and proper etiquette. The Department of Mysteries had spent two weeks adjusting the Translation Charm to adapt the sophisticated language. Their staff had had to rely on Muggles versed in the language to teach them what they knew; of course, although these Muggles had been members of past embassies to China, they were still deemed a security risk and had had their memories modified afterwards. Gwynant and the others were warned that the Translation Charm had limited abilities—the Muggles had not spent long enough to comprehensively learn the language—so, they were to keep careful records of everything that would enhance the capabilities of the charm. Things especially useful would be words for everyday use as well as colloquials and common catch-phrases. 

Gwynant knew these lessons were important, but he found them difficult and tedious. Why a language that used no alphabet would want to complicate matters by including tones was beyond logic. That each word could be said in more than one way in order to delineate intent and meaning was unnecessarily complex. There were many words in the English language with multiple meanings, yet which meaning was meant could be gleaned from context. And given that there were only so many different sounds the voice could produce, many Chinese words ended up sounding the same and yet would have nothing else in common. Chinese etiquette was, almost impossibly, even more convoluted and intricate than their language. It seemed the entire culture applauded itself for its duplicity and round-about ways. Being tactful and respectful was only being civilized, but the Chinese took this to such a level that Gwynant wondered what they were attempting to hide behind their masks of so-called politeness. Was sophistication truly a measure of progress?

Nonetheless, Gwynant crammed his head and wrote extensive notes to take with him. He also chose carefully among his textbooks and references in his father’s library. He would also be writing marginal notes of the Chinese equivalents to spells and potions and the like. Surely Chinese magic couldn’t be so different from the one in which he had been trained that overlaps did not exist? 

As the day drew near, Gwynant put aside his apprehensions and the non-academic burdens expected of him. After all, this was an adventure and a chance to prove himself. His mama had made indirect references to an Order of Merlin if he returned victorious.

***

Hans had always been the adventurous type.

That was why, at age fifteen, his father had allowed him to sail with one of the family’s trading ships—it was what the boy needed to use up all that restless energy, his father had argued to his mother; it was unfortunately more productive than the mess he had made in the warehouse, re-stacking the crates of tea because he felt their arrangements too dull. Did she forget that it took old Thomas three days to reorganize them back into their proper categories? It was a good thing the cartons were labelled right after arrival and inspection and the foolish boy had not been given the task to perform—his older brother, thank God, had more sense than that.

According to his grandfather, Han’s adventurous spirit was an inheritance of a several times great-grandfather, the one who had established the family business and had been a captain of his own ship before that. The sea was in Hans’ blood. His grandfather had always wanted to see the world, but being the eldest and only son, his duties to the family business overrode any personal desires. So, Grandfather had encouraged Hans’ longing to be free of the trappings of a middle-classed existence.

And now, three years after leaving the docks of Amsterdam, Hans returned to announce that he would be moving to England. Two years ago, he had followed his brother on a trip to transport the company’s tea to their partner in London and had been invited to view a demonstration of how a new technology, a steam engine, worked and how it was helping revolutionize the running of machinery in factories and, especially, the textile mills. Hans had been amazed. Workers were flooding to the towns from the countryside to earn a better living. Hans saw a yet untapped market of new customers who would need the warmth and sustenance that their tea would bring. Please, he begged his father, couldn’t he try? Brother Petrus could come often to check on him, and besides, their partner, Mr. Brandon, was more than happy to have help expanding the business; he even offered to arrange for land to be purchased for the warehouses and front office. 

His father interrogated Hans about his business plans. Satisfied, he nodded. He silenced his protesting wife with a curt reminder that wasn’t it her wish that Hans give up his uncertain life as a sailor? Yes, but she had expected him to come home, not gallivant to another country; it could be years before she saw him again. The boy was finally showing a desire to settle down and partake in the family business, his father retorted, so she should stop clinging to him as if he were a child. If she was so desperate to show affection, she should go and coddle Petrus’ daughter and leave the boy alone. The little girl loved tea parties and gossiping about the neighbours, just like her grandmother, so they would be perfect company for one another.

It turned out that Hans’ decision would be the saving grace for the family. In less than a decade after he settled in the small northern town of Manchester, the Dutch Republic was overtaken by the French. His parents, younger sister, and Petrus’ wife and children had managed to escape to England. Petrus was trapped in the warehouse when it caught fire and burned along with a section of the city. His older sister and her family had also met with a sad end: his brother-in-law had been a high-ranking official in the now-deposed Republic. 

In the next few years, the family struggled to recover their losses and establish Manchester as their new base of operations. Thankfully, it took a shorter time than Hans’ father feared, for he had not realized the extent of Hans’ success. Manchester was growing almost daily, factories springing up everywhere. Tea was a welcome reprieve from the dismal conditions of factory life. Business was booming.

Predictably, Hans’ mother was more pleased to discover that he had finally settled down to raise a family, and although his wife was an English girl and could not understand a word of Dutch, she seemed a smart, capable housekeeper. There were no babies yet, but the way she fawned over the children was promising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For simplicity, I’m using only one system of transliteration of Chinese terms: the modern pinyin. In the time period that this part of the story is set, the transliteration system used is the Wade-Giles, but I feel it too complicated to switch between them. I’ve only made one exception, and that’s with the term “Canton System”, since that’s an archaic term only found in textbooks discussing the Qing dynasty period. The Qing government had established the Canton System (1757-1842) to restrict trade between Europeans and China to thirteen business markets outside the city walls of Canton/Guangzhou during season and Macau during off-season. And for those who may not have made the connections: Guangzhou=Canton (city; the province of the same name is Guangdong) and Beijing=Peking.
> 
> I tried to keep the Muggle facts as accurate as possible, although I fudged tea’s history a bit. Tea was first brought back to Europe by the Portuguese. When it first arrived in the Netherlands, it was in packets like herbs meant to be chewed for medicinal purposes and not steeped and drunk as a beverage.
> 
> Ostentation is a real word; smirkingly is not. I'd rather it the other way around.
> 
> The Netherlands was a republic between 1581 and 1795, after which they were taken over by the French monarchy. The acronym “VOC” stands for the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie, translated as the "United East India Company", AKA the Dutch East India Company.
> 
> The ideas presented about Chinese magic are completely my own invention, although I did borrow the basic concepts of yin/ying and the five elements from Taoism. So, any nonsense is purely mine.
> 
> Like all absolute rulers the world over, the Chinese emperors had a ton of titles and honorary names. It was customary to have a posthumous title as well. So, the Shizong Emperor is most commonly known by his reign title: Yongzheng.


	2. Part 2

Nothing could’ve prepared Gwynant for his first views of China. It was so... _foreign_. During his first week, he had been overwhelmed by the sights, the noises, the crowds, the sheer _size_ of the country. And the stares he received—even though he had not spent much time walking about the streets, everywhere he went, people pointed and stared at him as if he were some exotic creature. The bold ones even came up to touch his skin and hair. He supposed, if he had not been constantly accompanied by one of the students of the Academy, he would have been mobbed. When he arrived at the Imperial Academy of Magic, he had been introduced to three students who were closest in age to him: Yaozu, Xiecheng, and Wei. Yao, as he consented to be called after Gwynant stumbled over his pronunciations, was technically an apprentice of one of the teachers, having graduated the year before. Gwynant found him the most congenial. He was fascinated with everything Gwynant had brought with him. Gwynant was rather shocked at first to learn that the Chinese did not have the most ordinary of everyday items: a pocket watch, buttons, even spectacles. They had means of telling time, of course, their own versions of grandfather clocks, although their days were divided into twelve instead of twenty-four intervals. And their clothes were obviously properly fastened, only their buttons were a complex system of a knotted button that was fitted through a hoop made of the same material. The spectacles that Gwynant carried on him were actually an old pair of his father’s. Before his journey, they had been given to him, and he was told to always keep them with him because they could be activated as a Portkey to bring him home. 

But what was most bizarre to Gwyant was the Chinese theory of magic… and of life as a whole. Gwynant’s first few weeks of lessons had been difficult as teachers and fellow students grappled with the mutual language barrier, but as they learned to supplement and add to the basic translation spells, as well as incorporate some keywords from each other’s languages, communication improved manifold. And that was when Gwynant’s head exploded. The duality of _yin_ and _yang_ , the fussiness of the five elements. It was confusing and tedious to learn the exact proportions of all those things in every object around them. Magic was simply the ability to manipulate these basic properties. Gwynant compared what he was learning and what he had been taught back home and concluded that the two approaches were polar opposites: in his world, the complexity came in all the different techniques used to wield magic, whereas for the Chinese, the complexity lay in the materials and objects all around, and magic was more a matter of extraction. 

The idea that their universe was governed by complex rules and that the importance lay in the ability to fit in and maintain balance also seemed to form the basis for social interaction. The Chinese seemed reliant on a series of complicated, often contradictory rules of conduct that were not only duplicitous but fraught with implicity. Gwynant understood the need for tact, but the Chinese brought it to such a level that it seemed counterproductive. The simplest, most straight-forward means of communicating and accomplishing a goal tended to fail as soon as it involved more than one person because toes would be stepped on, noses put out of joint, and networks dismantled unless carefully negotiated. Gwynant felt he was encountering Backfiring Jinxes at every turn.

Gwynant had to admit that their baffling and elaborate philosophies did inform the beauty of their art and architecture. Yao had proudly pointed out that, with the exception of the symbolism behind the yellow tiles, the numbers nine and five, the dragon motifs, and all such aspects exclusive to the Emperor’s status, the structure and layout of the Forbidden City was based on that of the Academy, which preceded its construction by several dynasties. Gwynant marvelled at the almost simplistic elegance of the design that simultaneously spoke of grandeur. He had not, of course, seen the grand palace of the Chinese king, but if it was indeed a larger version of the Academy, then it must be a spectacular sight. The concepts of _yin_ and _yang_ and the five elements began to make more sense when he could see their visual application everywhere he turned.

Another aspect of daily life at the Academy that astounded him and made him quite envious was how commonplace silk was to the wizards. Majority of their clothes were made of silk, and even their bedding was made of the material. Yao had explained that silk had a wonderful duality not found in other textiles: it had the ability to change so that it felt cool against the skin on hot summer days and warm in winter. It was also flexible and lightweight, making it a very practical and versatile material to use. Yao did admit that it was a material mostly reserved for the wealthy, but wizards were a unique class and had power enough to set their own rules. Gwynant vowed that if the joint Embassy was successful, he would insist that silk be imported to the wizarding world in sufficient enough quantities to also make it the preferred material of choice for everyday use.

***

Yaozu had been very curious and excited to meet the foreign student who would be studying at the Academy for the next year. Although he had only had two or three encounters with foreigners, they fascinated him. And the objects they had brought as gifts to the Emperor were wondrous. The teachers had been granted permission to bring the older students to the Forbidden City to analyze the compositions of the objects.

At their first meeting, Yaozu had had to contain his astonishment at the appearance of the foreign student, whose name was very odd-sounding—he had tried several times to pronounce the name properly, but so far, he had only managed an approximation: Guannan. But what astonished him was Guannan’s paleness: his hair was such a pale yellow it was almost white, and he had such clear eyes, they were almost the colour of water in a white porcelain cup.

Astonishment soon turned to apprehension. Yaozu was appalled when he shared his first meal with the new student. He and Xiecheng had snuck into the kitchens and gathered some snacks for Guannan, who had arrived after breakfast, between meals. Guannan looked doubtfully at the proffered tea, took a sip, and choked on it. And then, he asked for milk and sugar. Milk could not be procured until the following day, when the _Ah Yi_ s went shopping for the day’s provisions—they would be most displeased at the request to make the special trip to the farm outside the city and arrange for a regular delivery of milk with the eggs—and they watched in bewilderment as Guannan added a whole spoonful of sugar into the small cup. After a sip, he added another. What barbarian spoiled the fragrance of such good quality tea with milk and sugar?

The Headmaster had consulted with contacts in Guangzhou and knew to provide specific utensils for the new student. Yaozu and all the other students looked with great interest at them. From their history lessons, they knew that in ancient times, their ancestors had used fork and knife to eat their food. Chopsticks had, of course, since replaced them, and fork and knife were only used now as tools in the kitchen. A few students sniggered about uncouth demons, but they were all impressed at how genteel Guannan ate his food. He did express surprise at the fact that the food was already cut into small enough pieces to eat—he seemed a bit reluctant to reveal that in his country, the meat, especially, was cooked in slabs, and the individual was expected to cut it into the preferred size for consumption. Having been warned by the Headmaster not to be rude about foreign customs in front of their guest, the other students refrained from making derogatory comments or views, but several could not completely suppress looks of astonishment. 

But what truly puzzled Yaozu when he learned of it at a much later date and in private conversation with Guannan was that the wealthy foreigners, in general, were served their food on one plate, the food already divided equally among all seated at the table. Guannan had gotten used to the style of taking portions from shared serving plates while he attended school, but he made it clear that it was the lower classes who generally ate in such a fashion. But what if one wanted more or did not like eating certain foods? Guannan said it was rude to ask for more because it implied that the host was frugal and failed to provide for his guests. Hosts were expected to know ahead of time if guests had aversions to certain foods, and unless the guest could not eat certain foods because they caused severe health problems, everyone was expected to eat everything. The guest would obviously explain to the host the reason for avoiding the food item, so as not to offend the cook. What delicate constitutions these foreigners had! Yaozu made a mental note to find out what foods Guannan did not eat so as to inform the kitchen staff. He had already had to discreetly inform the Headmaster that Guannan needed to be exempted from assisting with the regular chores as he had been raised in a household where the servants did everything.

Foreigners were such strange creatures. A curious mixture of backwardness and civilized mannerisms. They placed much emphasis on how they presented themselves, making sure they were always clean, dressed in elegance, walked with grace, and perceived as polite but distant persons. It was as if they expected to be presented to the Emperor on a daily basis. In all arts and music, they were well-versed, and although their styles and techniques were vastly different from what Yaozu was familiar with, what they produced was of great beauty. There was a great emphasis on portraying life realistically and in great detail in painting. And there was much passion in the way they played music—Yaozu felt he could fall into a trance for hours. Their poetry was very long-winded, but nonetheless, the topics were interesting, and their writing, while strange indeed, was stylish and well-balanced. As well, once he understood the rules, Guannan was a formidable opponent at _weiqi_. He explained that they had a game called chess that was also focussed on war strategy. In turn, Guannan taught Yaozu how to play not only chess but a variety of card games. But the foreigners were so lacking in sophistication when it came to food! Guannan was continually astonished by new flavours, at the fact that eating in public restaurants was common practice, and that there were so many different ways to cook the same basic foods, depending on what region of the Middle Kingdom the chef was from. 

As Guannan settled into this new environment, Yaozu noticed that he became more self-conscious of how different he appeared to others, and he made an effort to blend in more. His complexion would always make him noticeable in a crowd, but at least he was less conspicuous when dressed like the other students. Yaozu gave him full credit for attempting to use chopsticks. Guannan was red as a firecracker when he asked Yaozu to teach him, and although perfectly spherical objects were still beyond his abilities, he began using chopsticks and rice bowls like everyone else. Now, if only Yaozu could convince him to try offal...

***

Hans was delighted to make Yaozu’s acquaintance.

Ever since he had been regaled by Gwynant’s tales about the Academy, he had been very anxious to make the acquaintance of a Chinese person who would be more forthcoming with answers to his queries about this fascinating but oftentimes infuriating culture. Yaozu’s responses still seemed cagey at times as compared to even the “polite” English, but he was the most honest Chinese person Hans had encountered to date. 

It had taken possibly the span of three seconds for Hans to accept that wizards and magic were real and not the stuff of legend. And he had jumped at the chance to be a part of the joint Embassy to China. Even his mama had pushed him to participate in the venture. Ever since the dissolution of the British East India Company, competition had been fierce. This was the edge that he needed. The voyage was obviously not his first to this amazing country. Even after he was established in Manchester, he would occasionally sail with the ships either to deal with issues that occurred at the warehouses here in Guangzhou or to simply appease his wanderlust. If the desired success was met, _van der Meer’s Tea Co._ could possibly even surpass the achievements made back in Amsterdam.

Hans chuckled as he watched the interaction between Gwynant and Yaozu. The former no longer had that glazed but mulish look on his face that Hans had seen even at the last visit. Non-magical Britain had surprised Gwynant a few times. China was a shock to the boy. Hans could tell that Yaozu had gleaned more about Gwynant’s life than vice versa. It was a piece of good luck indeed that this was Yaozu’s territory. He would have been a force to be reckoned with if he was part of an embassy to Britain, for he was just the right combination of diplomacy, unassuming charm, and fierce national pride. But being at home, he was much more relaxed and willing to showcase what his land had to offer. Hans would make sure the other wizards encouraged this friendship, for Yaozu might be the key to the door of the Forbidden City.

***

These foreign _fazhuan_ certainly had some odd ideas! To think that exclusively marrying other _fazhuan_ was the ideal to producing children with magical talent! _Fazhuan_ since the Han dynasty had already set down strict rules about intermarriage—it was a logical extension of the general taboo of marrying another of the same surname: there was too much blood in common. The children produced were often sickly, and that made them unfavourable candidates for the rigorous life of a _fazhuan_ at court, for it was their responsibility to aid the Emperor in maintaining order throughout his empire. The longevity of the dynasty was very much dependent on the court _fazhuan_. And so, _fazhuan_ were expected to marry with the common people so that children of varying degrees of magical talent would be produced. Those with the greatest potential served the Emperor and his officials, others were trained at other magical schools and would serve the populace—as doctors, shamans, fortune-tellers, business consultants, and so forth—and aid the magical officials at court by providing news from across the empire, to keep the Emperor well-informed of any problems that needed resolution before things became unmanageable. Very often, of course, when a dynasty was showing signs of incompetence, it was the less-talented brethren who had found the candidate to be supported as the eventual progenitor of the new dynasty.

Yaozu shook his head in bemusement. It was no wonder that the foreign _fazhuan_ had had to isolate themselves. Mistrust from both sides led to conflict and, according to Guannan, severe persecution of the magical community, which was smaller in numbers. And if Guannan was typical of _fazhuan_ of his country, then it was no wonder they were unable to defend themselves. They may have magical talent, but they were much too dependent on that stick of wood they used as their only weapon. As the teachers had been repeatedly drilling into the students, it was of little help using magic to injure an opponent whose sword or arrow had already pierced one’s body. Guannan had at first seemed quite contemptuous when Yaozu told him he did not have a fixed tool with which to wield magic, but when Yaozu ably demonstrated the broad range of weapons available on-hand and their effectiveness in different situations, Guannan’s contempt turned to contemplation. Yaozu had approached Master Zhou discreetly to see if Guannan could be taught the skills needed to wield weapons like the other students. After a few lessons, Master Zhou told Yaozu in confidence that the foreigner would never be able to effectively wield magic with any other tool except his stick of wood. The training he’d received during his formative years had honed his skills too well.

Yaozu also kept secret the fact that, had Guannan been a hopeful wanting to enrol at the Academy, he would have been denied access. Guannan had been exempted from the selection ritual because he was both a qualified _fazhuan_ by the standards of his own Academy and a guest invited by the _Fazhuan_ Council. Every student wishing to be accepted to the Academy was instructed to step into the very centre of the Main Hall and wait while the four guardians determined whether entrance would be granted; each guardian had one vote, and even if there was one refusal, entrance would be denied, and the unlucky student would have to apply to another magical school. Acceptance was based purely on magical potential, and unlike the Imperial Examination System that chose the non-magical officials who served the Emperor, the guardians could not be swayed by money, family connections, letters of introduction from alumni, or blackmail. Yaozu had been surprised to learn of the “nay” from the red bird guardian, for it was usually the most generous of the four. He then recalled the triplicated _I Ching_ reading.

***

Gwynant felt a sense of satisfaction. After having made arrangements with the Academy’s Headmaster to meet with the two Ministry representatives to discuss a possibility of establishing a permanent exchange program between Hogwarts and the Academy, he had had a long discussion with the two wizards regarding the best strategy to broach the subject of an introduction to the Magical Council to discuss trade relations. Gwynant had pointed out that Professors Chen and Ouyang were the most liberal-minded and were openly interested in The West. They had asked Gwynant countless questions about life back home, from the minutae of daily life to the workings of the Ministry. Gwynant had, of course, kept descriptions of Ministry policies and other sensitive information vague, but the Professors seemed little interested in politics and more intent on the hierarchical structure of the community. Social rank was rigidly defined and adhered to in China, although it was less observed in the Chinese magical community. Nonetheless, as the Chinese, whether magical or Muggle, place heavy emphasis on ceremony and ritual, Gwynant informed them of all the proper protocols. It wouldn’t do to make mistakes at this juncture. The other wizards had realized that approaching the Council directly or through the intricate network of relations between community-serving wizards and their high-ranking or wealthy friends were dead ends, given the limited time they had. If they had the luxury of several years to slowly build relations, both routes would yield a greater foothold in the country, but as such, they had to make do with the “single shot”, pass-or-fail window of opportunity Gwynant had created.

***

The Headmaster had called for a meeting to discuss how to treat with the foreign _fazhuan_ who were to visit in two days’ time. They were angry but also worried. The arrogance of these foreigners to send a mere boy to spy out a back entrance to the Emperor’s court! The boy’s slow progress notwithstanding—if they had really wanted to exchange ideas to mutually expand knowledge about magic, they would have sent a younger, more flexible student, one who could still be taught—his lack of subtlety in gathering information spoke of a ruthlessness that would be hard to contain if the situation became hostile. The foreign devils had already weakened the foundation of society through the poisonous opium. And the Emperor and his court were stubbornly holding onto the belief that they were invincible. Maintaining balance was not a mere parlour trick, and to attempt to keep order when chaos was already eating away at the bonds was a strain that only needed one small cut to unravel everything. And if the _fazhuan_ community tried to even hinder the foreigners’ request, the result could very well be a wildfire that burned away all bonds and accelerated the chaos. These foreign devils were not like the others who preceded them, the ones who had been willing to abide by the established protocol. No, they wanted to dominate, to usurp the Mandate of Heaven and become the new Middle Kingdom. It was clear that, in spite their use of the term “trade relations”, they wanted to yolk the country as they had done India. But that they barely hid their greedy intents beneath the veneer of fair exchange was what troubled the staff more than the insult of being seen as a wild boar to be hunted and tamed.

There was but one approach to the situation: appeasement. They would neither overtly support nor refuse whatever request was asked. They would set the foreigners up and then demur from any further involvement. Then, they would make preparations for an eventuality wherein their expertise would be most needed to minimize the damages from the fallout. Oh, there was no doubt that there would be damage: no matter how much the Emperor ceded, it would not be enough. The foreign devils would not stop until they subjugated the country. Hopefully, not through opium; death was preferable.

The Headmaster would present their knowledge of the situation to his good friend, the Grand Counsellor. What the Council ultimately decided to do was per their wisdom and discretion, but the Headmaster knew that they, too, were aware that the winds were changing.

***

Yaozu was sad to part ways with his new friend. Despite only having known him for three months, they had gotten along quite well. Guannan had opened his eyes to a new world of ideas and way of thinking. He did not agree with all of them, but he was glad to be in the know.

Yaozu had been warned by the Headmaster himself of what had transpired and how the Council, in a surprising show of solidarity with the court, had politely declined obtaining an audience to the Emperor. Guannan had been increasingly dispirited and moody ever since he learned of the news from his people. Yaozu knew that he had been a pawn in a much bigger game and tried to distract him with outings. It was during these ventures that Yaozu saw, for the first time, a glimpse of a simmering anger as Guannan observed the busy markets, the bustling crowd, the merchandise. There was a barely concealed resentment during the moments when Guannan thought Yaozu could not observe his face. And indeed, his eyes were hidden, but his entire aura spoke it aloud to those who knew how to sense it.

Yaozu’s parting gift was a silk vest that could be worn beneath Guannan’s regular clothing; he knew that Guannan admired the material above all the other goods he had seen and touched. Guannan had quietly accepted and fingered the vest. In return, he gave Yaozu his small clock that he always carried. He brooked no denial when Yaozu demurred from accepting such a personal possession. He, too, knew that Yaozu admired it above all the other instruments he had seen, beyond even the wondrous toys that the Emperor had been gifted by foreign emissaries over the years. 

The two young men drank their tea in quiet contemplation. Both knew that this would most likely be the last time they would see each other again. And there was no doubt in both their minds that correspondence would be impossible.

Yao was there at the dock to bid Gwynant farewell. He knew that he had been aloof these final days and that Yao was disappointed that their friendship had been another casualty of the failed talks. But Gwynant couldn’t help it. An inexplicable rage had been brewing within him ever since he had been told the news. He had been blinded with fury for a moment until he was called back by a concerned and bewildered Hans. It had taken all his willpower not to strike the merchant. Even now, Gwynant could not explain this sudden surge of emotion. And it had not diminished but persisted and threatened to burst at any unguarded moment. And so, Gwynant withdrew.

Gwynant looked about the harbour for what would probably be his last time. How different his perception was now at the sight of all the colours and commotions. Home would look so drab by comparison.

Home. Yes, he needed to see the quiet, familiar walls. Perhaps they would help him find his sense of calm.

***

Master Wang was worried. His good friend, Governor-General Lin Zexu had just left with an obstinate look on his face. Yaozu wondered if the rumours were true that the Emperor, may he live tens of thousands of years, had given him the commission to stop the illegal trade of opium by those foreign devils. Unlike most doctors, Master Wang had always condemned the use of that plant as an effective medicine. It was but a deceiver, for while it gave momentary pain relief and peace to the patient, it did not cure majority of ailments. In fact, its potency quickly waned and before long, the patient was dependent on it, needing more and more; yet, through all this, the ailment was not abolished. A truly effective medicine, claimed Master Wang, cured the ailment, restored the body to its proper balance, and need no longer be taken once it had achieved harmony and proper health.

Yaozu knocked, gained admittance, and went into the master’s study to collect the empty teacups. Master Wang was staring out the window, hands clasped behind his back. Oh dear. The master only did that when greatly troubled. In spite his quick temper, the master was usually not easily perturbed, having developed a habit of strict equanimity through the years.

“Ah, Yaozu. My friend Lin has indeed received the commission to Guangzhou. So, the rumours proved true. I worry, though, about the difficulties he will be facing. Those foreign devils are arrogant—you remember the disrespect from the one during Gaozhong’s seventy-third year who refused to kowtow to His Imperial Majesty. Lin says there are reports that the warehouses of the foreign smugglers hold at least 100,000 chests of opium from India. Lin may have justice on his side, but I foresee much heartache gaining the foreign devils’ cooperation to hand over such a large quantity. When I received Lin’s letter informing of his visit, I divined his fortune in the upcoming months. The _I Ching_ passage was not reassuring: any success will be counteracted by more failure, and I fear he may not even escape with his life in the end. I did not tell him this, of course, but I gave him a small amulet for protection.”

“Will we have war on our hands, Master?”

“I do not know. There are too many variables to consider and not all will lead to such disharmony. But it would be best to be prepared. I must speak with the other teachers about this. Just between us, the court is showing troubling signs of ill-fortune, and this does not bode well if Lin is unable to swiftly resolve the problem.”

***

The noise was deafening. And the smell of gunpowder was making Gwynant wrinkle his nose. In spite their smaller numbers, the British troops were roaring and goading the Chinese. And they had a right to feel confident. Even though he was not versed in Muggle war weaponry, one look at the weapons being used by both sides clearly showed the British with the advantage. At this rate, they would be advancing inland much quicker than anticipated.

Their wizards were putting up a great resistance, though. Gwynant now saw how extremely advantageous it was to be able to manipulate any material in the surroundings with the simplest of techniques. The wizards on his side were spending more time protecting themselves against attack by soil, vegetation, shifting earth, and funnelling moisture than forming an effective offensive to help push forward.

Gwynant was restless. He had been told to hold back and wait instead of being a part of the frontline. The Auror who was acting as commander had told him he would be more useful later on. Gwynant had spent only a month in combat training at the Ministry, and he wasn’t sure he had any special skills superior to those of the more experienced Hit Wizards in the frontline. Perhaps his knowledge of Chinese wizardry was useful for strategizing, should the tide turn in favour of the Chinese. Still, impatience stirred.

A sudden line of fire blazing across the length of the field had all the frontline troops falling back in cacophonous panic. The fire blazed high, and the men could not see until too late the volley of arrows flying. The height of the blaze decreased, and new troops began to move forward, only to be hindered by small black objects piercing the flame. From the blood that was being spilled from the wounds, they surmised that these were bullets. Gwynant strained to see the enemy lines. A new line of wizards had appeared at the forefront, paired with archers, so these must be the ones controlling the fire. Gwynant was incensed. “Cowards!” How _dared_ they use such underhanded tricks? 

The commanding Auror finally located and shouted obscenities at the source of the bullets. It seemed to be a single wizard, dressed in white, who was levitating several cannonballs and launching them toward the British lines. The cannonballs shattered midway into projectile bullets. Gwynant focussed his attention on tracking the wizard, his anger mounting. It was too far a distance, else he would curse the hands off the bastard. Gwynant was so intent monitoring the Chinese wizard that he didn’t hear the commanding Auror speaking to him. But suddenly, a blind rage overtook him. Through the rage, he heard the clear instructions to go and capture the white-robed wizard, disarm him, and bring him back. 

In a flash of Apparition, Gwynant had crossed the distance separating the two sides, viciously disposed of all bodies in his path, and pummelled the wizard to the ground. He was only vaguely aware that the gashes criss-crossing the wizard’s face and torso were caused by claws extending from his hands before hauling the injured wizard back to the commanding Auror. As they landed with a thump, the Chinese wizard began shouting a curse at Gwynant, who slashed the wizard’s face again and then buried his claws into his enemy’s heart. But that didn’t disrupt the curse. As the magic enveloped Gwynant, his rage disintegrated, and he realized, in dawning horror, that the wizard he was straddling was Yao. With a shout, he removed his claws, but he could see the dark venom mixed with Yao’s blood, dripping onto the stained robes as the claws retracted.

As the acute pain receded, Yaozu became more aware of where he was and that he was pinned to the ground by the beast. His shallow breathing hitched as he stared at his captor and realized that it was Guannan. The silver scales and claws had receded, and his pale eyes were staring at him in horror. So, there was some non-human blood in his… friend. That would explain his difficulty adapting to the Academy’s style of magic—magical beasts were almost impossible to tame.

“I’m sorry,” Yaozu gasped, using Guannan’s own language. He had just remembered the curse he had cast in his raging pain. Reverting to his own tongue, for he knew not how to explain in Guannan’s, he spoke of regret that the curse could not be revoked, but in spite having inflicted the _nian_ to be reincarnated into his line, Yaozu fervently hoped that there would be one of Guannan’s descendants who would relinquish hatred and prejudice and, thus, release the family from the curse.

As he felt the venom take hold, Yaozu told Guannan that he hoped one day, the rift between their countries would be mended and a true friendship like theirs formed. 

Gwynant’s tears made him blind to everything else as he cradled Yao’s lifeless body in his arms. The commanding Auror had ordered a large Shield Charm to prevent the other side from reclaiming the captive and to give time for their side to regroup and extinguish the fire. But Gwynant no longer cared to fight. He realized that he was a pawn in a vicious game that he thought he understood. It was no wonder he had not been more seriously punished for the injuries he had caused to his trainers and fellow trainees alike. They must have found a way to control him so that his Veela inheritance overpowered and he became a mindless, slavering beast of destruction. If he ever returned home, he was going to resign from the Ministry and live a secluded life. He did not want another’s blood on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “Middle Kingdom” is what the Chinese call their country. “China” was coined by the Europeans from the Persian name for the country, “Cin”.
> 
> Lin Zexu is a historical figure. He really did try to get rid of opium from China, and his actions led directly to the two Opium Wars of the mid-1800s.
> 
> Gaozhong is the posthumous title for the emperor more commonly known as Qianlong. There’s a popular rumour that George Macartney refused to kowtow when he first met Qianlong, and whether he did or not depends on what source is consulted. What gave rise to the rumour and the subsequent fallout was a refusal from the British embassy to willingly partake in a formal guest ritual (of which kowtowing was a part) that was protocol at the Qing court. What Macartney didn’t know was that the Qing court, and the Chinese in general, used ceremony as the starting point for negotiations and establishing relations. It was condescending, of course, but Chinese emperors had the same attitude as the Popes: their positions were mandated by the one(s) above.
> 
> And that’s the end of the backstory! Thank you for your patience!


	3. Part 3

After months of refusing to try the Healer’s suggested method, Hermione finally relented. She had surprised even herself when she said “Yes” instead of the usual “No”. Arrangements were finalized, having been made with the owners and approved by the Ministry before she had been approached. 

Hermione asked Harry and Ron to accompany her, and they agreed with such alacrity that it was obvious that they, too, had only been awaiting her consent. Two Aurors were to go with them, and this had at first seemed to be a reason for Hermione to withdraw consent, but, because he knew what her reaction would likely be, Ron was so adamant, raising old prejudices about Death Eaters, that Hermione did not argue further.

The following morning, Hermione, with her entourage of five, Portkey’d to Malfoy Manor. They were greeted graciously but solemnly by the lady of the manor and offered refreshments, which they politely declined. After gently ensuring that Hermione was indeed ready to face her demons, Narcissa Malfoy led them to the drawing room, which had only been re-opened the day prior, after St. Mungo’s had notified of the visit. The room had been thoroughly aired out, but the musk of old memories still lingered.

Hermione turned about the room, at first fearful of lurking shadows. But the room stayed quiet. As she approached the remembered spot whence her current predicament had originated, she looked intently at the floor, as if trying to find traces of her blood. The floor was spotless.

Hermione suddenly stumbled, blinded by memory, and cried out. Harry and Ron immediately rushed forward to support her and winced as she cried out in pain. Then, she collapsed.

The Healer quickly instructed them to lay her on the floor as she rushed forward and knelt down to force a potion she had whisked from her pocket down Hermione’s throat. But she was not quick enough. The convulsions began. As did the screaming.

In the confusion that followed, as everyone else stood and watched in horror and helplessness, joined also by the lord of the manor, who had been attracted by the noise, there was a sudden series of crashes and rumblings that increased in volume until the racket entered the room. A vulture-like creature with silver scales, fangs, and large, silver wings pushed everyone forcefully out of the way, screeching at them as if to accuse them for Hermione’s sufferings. It sniffed, nuzzled in frustration, then finally screeched at Hermione, its wings twitching irritably when she failed to acknowledge its presence. Then, it bit.

Despite the creature’s clearly superior strength, Harry and Ron would have tried to rip it to pieces if they were not hindered by the Shield Charm that Lucius Malfoy wandlessly raised. He commanded them to wait, in a voice that overrode their outrage. Not for naught was he the head of one of the oldest and most powerful families in the wizarding world. It was fortunate that they obeyed him, for a moment later, Hermione calmed down. The creature folded back the silver wings that it had spread to form a protective tent over both of them. It very gentle nuzzled its beaked nose against her neck, cooing to comfort and licking the puncture wounds, sealing them. As Hermione’s breathing deepened and she relaxed into the protection of its arms, the creature’s fangs began retracting, the scales melting into pale skin, and the regular features of Draco Malfoy became once again recognizable. His parents gasped. The others stared foolishly. 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, and she stared in surprise at Draco Malfoy’s face, so close to her own. A purring sounded from his chest, and as if reassured, her eyes softened. Unnoticed by the pair, a faint red strand of light had wrapped around their right wrists, conjoining them. Draco lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the large staircase. Narcissa curtly told the rest of them to remain and beckoned the Healer to follow her. Lucius raised his hands in appeasement and assured everyone in the room that no harm would come to Hermione. If they would sit down, please, he would explain.

Upstairs, Draco had brought Hermione to his much-maligned rooms, now bereft of its door, and laid her onto his bed, the only piece of furniture not completely torn apart. His voice now returned, he told her to sleep. Narcissa invited the Healer to ensure Hermione was indeed out of danger. Satisfied that Hermione was not suffering anything but the induced paralysis, the Healer was about to demand an explanation when Narcissa stopped her with a finger over her own lips. She untied the curtains of the bed and cast a Silencing Charm so that Hermione would not be disturbed. Then, she beckoned toward one side of the room, where they could talk quietly.

Draco informed the Healer, briefly, that the paralyzing venom would be inactivated in an hour. She hesitated before asking, “How—how much Veela blood do you possess?”

Draco replied wryly that, thanks to an ancient family curse, he was almost full-Veela. One of his forefathers had coupled with a Veela, but perhaps because they were not a mated pair, the Veela inheritance had always expressed itself erratically and in varying degrees of potency through the subsequent generations; although, if the family records were to be believed, none had expressed as fully as he had. When asked about the curse, Narcissa informed that the son born of the Veela had received it from an opposing wizard during the trade disputes that occurred following the joint magical-Muggle venture to trade with China. Like the Veela, an ancient Chinese monster would be periodically born into the family. It was unfortunate that both inheritances had coincided with Draco—Draco snorted most derisively—and turned him not only into the most pure Veela yet born to the family but also a dangerous and mindless beast that became violent every year around this time. The family had researched and determined that the beast used to terrorize Chinese inhabitants until they discovered a way of controlling it—with the colour red and loud noises—and this ritual was performed yearly during the start of the lunar new year to keep the beast away and to ensure peace and prosperity for another year.

The Healer’s eyebrows had now reached her hairline, but she did not appear incredulous. In fact, she thoughtfully scrutinized Draco, seeming to size him up. “How did you know she is your mate?”

Startled, Draco pondered and finally replied that the screams had penetrated his frustrations—his parents had locked him into his room to prevent him from harming their guests—and something akin to a calling persisted until he forced his way out of his prison. He had acted on instinct and was as surprised as everyone else when his rage dissipated. Having found his mate and received her acceptance, it seemed his Veela possessiveness had also receded.

***

The creature hadn’t slept this peacefully for a long time. He was startled awake by screaming, and opening his eyes, he saw his mate scrambling away from him. His head felt a sudden chill where he had snuggled against her side. She looked terrified. He cooed to assuage her fear. Some of it dispersed, but she was still tense. He moved closer to her, stretching out a hand to pet and soothe, but she retreated farther, finally tumbling off the bed. He shrieked. By the time he landed on the floor, she had retreated into the corner, shrinking into a tight ball. He whimpered, confused. Why was she so frightened of him? He dared not approach and sat, imitating her pose, arms about knees, folding his wings in.

Hermione’s breathing slowed, her panic finally calming. She had been staring at the creature the whole time, but she only now realized that it was a Veela. That meant…

“Malfoy.” He let out a whimper. She uncurled and walked slowly toward him, sat down, then tentatively touched his upper arm. The confusion left his eyes. Gradually, he transformed back to his human self. Hermione realized with a blush that he was also starkers. “Hello, Malfoy. Um, thank you for helping me yesterday.”

“ _Yrrrll_ —You’re welcome. I’m—I apologize for startling you just now.”

“That’s all right. Instinct, you know. Of course you know. So, um, are there many Veela in the family?”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle. “Always the curious one. Just the one, several generations back. Although, there have been a few half-bloods.”

“What?”

“Hypocrisy, I know. But when all the families in your social circle are unanimous on issues of blood purity… I would wager, though, that if we were to investigate, we’d find more half-bloods, perhaps even Muggle-borns, in their trees as well. My ancestors realized long ago that too much intermarriage with pure-bloods produced sickly offspring. So, while appearances needed to be maintained in the form of a pure-blood spouse, the heir would conceive his or her children with a non-pure-blood. The ancestor who introduced Veela blood into the family had saved her from starvation. She never told him the whole story, just that her mother and mate were murdered and she was driven from her ostentation. His wife had already suffered three miscarriages and two stillbirths, so in thanks for saving her from death, she agreed to bear his heir. Since then, the Veela inheritance has cropped up periodically.”

“Oh.” Hermione had never exchanged more than a dozen words or so with Malfoy, and these were usually insults and threats, so she was taken aback not only with the quantity but also by the frankness. Having digested the information, she realized the implications. “So, um, mates?”

“Seems so. And seeing as we’re going to have to get used to being civilized to each other for the rest of our lives—assuming your Gryffindor compassion won’t let me pine away in agony—can I get you something to eat?”

“Um, thank you. Just something light. Er, would it be possible to get some lemonade?” She saw his odd expression. “What?”

“Never mind, we’ll deal with that later. Domiziana! What? I’ll have you know that not all house-elves are given silly names. Dobby was only called that because my grandfather couldn’t say Dominador when he was young. Ah, Domiziana, some lemonade and something light but nutritious for, um, Miss Hermione.”

“Thank you, Domiziana.” When the elf had bowed and disappeared, she snarked, “And, of course, to save your grandfather from embarrassment, everyone else had to call the house-elf ‘Dobby’ instead.”

“Naturally. After seven tries, he was the first and only child to survive infancy. He was a bit precious.”

“He must be thrilled you’re bringing a Mudblood into the family.”

“Are you always so uncouth? Look, I’m _sorry_ I was such an arse when we were in school. I was hoping, by being honest with you, that we could attempt to start over, seeing as how we’ll be sharing a bed together, but if you’d rather resume hostilities…” 

“Well, excuse me for poking the elephant in the room! Given our past encounters, I don’t think your father is thrilled to have me as a daughter-in-law either.”

“He’ll get over it. And his biases against you have more to do with the fact that you’re Potter’s friend than your blood status. He’s never been that fanatic about purity.”

“But—”

“I _told_ you: everyone else around us was spewing the same dogma, _especially_ my mother’s parents. I had no choice when we were at Hogwarts—if any of my Housemates saw me behaving differently... If it means that much to you, my father will _apologize_ for all his transgressions—don’t expect grovelling, though—and I _know_ my mother will apologize, grovel even, for what her crazy sister did to you—”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“ _Now_ who’s mad at whom for poking the elephant in the room?”

“Do you know why I’ve been having convulsions, to the point that I have to be hospitalized? During the Ministry battle in Fifth, I was hit with one of Dolohov’s curses, something that he invented himself. The Healers figured out that it is a variation on the Cruciatus. It’s more subtle and doesn’t incapacitate like the Unforgivable, but what it _does_ do is weaken the tissues of the body and prime them to be more susceptible to the curse when it _is_ cast. So, when Bellatrix...”

“Granger... I’m sorry. I didn’t know—Could you please stop cry—Oh, shit!” 

Draco’s scales and fangs reappeared, and he lost the ability to speak. In spite his obvious disgruntlement, his instincts forced him to first attend to his mate. He began nuzzling his beaked nose against her shoulder, cooing to placate. Hermione wiped her tears and stroked his hair, surprised at the softness. She couldn’t help giggling at his purr before he transformed back, at which point the purring turned to growling. 

“You know, Malfoy, seeing as we’re going to be spending the rest of our lives together, you’d better get used to being petted.”

“I would appreciate if you’d stop making me change back and forth between my two forms.”

“It’s your fault for upsetting me.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to soothe your ruffled feathers, so to speak.” 

Before she knew it, he was kissing her.

***

Lucius knew, as soon as he entered the room, that they were expecting him.

“What is going on, Lucius?”

“Cassius is saying that your son went mad and broke down the door! I thought you were better at building wards than that!”

“We all felt the raw power—what has he destroyed this time? And why were things suddenly calm? He’s not… _dead_ , is he?”

“You’re daft, Diomasach! Veela can’t die that easily!”

Lucius cleared his throat and recounted events once he had silence. When he had finished detailing the bitter history between Draco and his new-found bride-to-be, the portraits remained in stunned silence. The whole time he spoke, Lucius had directed most of his attention toward Gwynant, and he looked intently at this forefather now. Gwynant had been thoughtful throughout, but now he broke into a smile.

“She is the key to lifting the curse.” 

Gwynant had become a man of few words after he had returned home and shut himself into the manor. His words usually counted for more than that of others when a cabal was called. There were some muttered grumbles about middle-classed morals, but they were all fully aware that breaking the curse was now of the utmost importance. 

“Those Ministry dogs didn’t give you any trouble about the Shield Charm, did they, Lucius?”

“No, not after I explained the situation. It is within my rights as head of the family to protect my own. Those two could’ve done some serious harm to Draco and his mate in their reckless rage to save their best friend. They realized that and got rid of the Ministry pests, but not before extracting a promise of silence on the matter. There _are_ advantages to having the Boy-Who-Lived-Again be one’s spokesperson. He and the Weasley boy are not particularly pleased with the situation, but I am counting on their Gryffindor loyalty to overlook that.”

“You’re sure the girl can be taught?”

“She is not a savage, Claudius. Besides, Narcissa can surely bring her to heel. She tamed Lucius of his wild ways, didn’t she? Poor Alcyone was ready to bring nasty little Brutus’ son into the manor to begin preparing him to succeed.”

“That’s true! I’d forgotten about that!”

“Well, we should be safe for several more generations, with this new blood. Lucius, you must encourage Draco to use all his Veela charm to coax a few more children from his mate. Three generations of single heirs is simply not acceptable.”

“Oh hush, Cassius, what if they all take after Abraxas? They’ll tear the manor apart! Hmmm, although… if they were all girls…”

“But Lelica…”

“We’ve had witches head the family before, haven’t we? Or did you conveniently forget that your mother was one such heir, Cassius?”

“Never mind my boy, Petula. I like her. She withstood the torture that Narcissa’s crazy sister inflicted. That is nothing to sneer at. You must make her feel welcome, Lucius. If she sees the family as her true one, she will be a formidable force in helping it regain its former glory.”

“And she’ll be good at keeping that boy in check. He’s got a mouth, that one. He’s even worse than Lucius. Although, something tells me my grandson’s bride will be even more successful at taming the heir than even Lucius’.”

“As I recall, mother, you lost in the battle of wills to my bride over the new colour scheme for the drawing room.”

“Ha! I remember that! You must have sulked for a whole week in your room, Alcyone.”

“Just like you sulked for two yourself when the boy beat you at chess that time, husband. But never mind. We ladies must speak to Narcissa about making sure the girl is as comfortable as possible. What did you say her name was, Lucius?”

“Hermione.”

“Nice name. Her mother clearly has some breeding. Do you know what sort of family she comes from? Oh, never mind, I’m sure Narcissa has already found out. Now, you run along and tell her we’ll meet her in the conservatory. Meeting adjourned!”

***

Malfoy had thankfully left her to eat her meal in peace. As she mulled over recent events, she couldn’t help but be glad that she and, especially, Harry had forgone personal grudges in the face of justice and came forward to testify during the Malfoys’ trial. Harry had very vehemently pointed out that he would’ve been _Avada_ ’d a second time if Narcissa had not lied about his living status. And, of course, Harry had revealed the truth about the circumstances surrounding Dumbledore’s death. Hermione had also aided in lightening Malfoy’s sentence to simple house arrest when she not only corroborated the fact that he had not identified her during their capture at Malfoy Manor but that he had discreetly pointed Dobby toward the chandelier that had helped release her from Bellatrix’s hold. She had, of course, only been conscious of this afterwards, intent on escape as they had all been at the time. She and Harry had reached an unspoken agreement that Lucius Malfoy would take the fall for his family, so they had both been shocked to see Ron come forward and acknowledge that both Lucius and Narcissa had not fought with the Death Eaters in the final skirmish; they had rushed into the castle with only the intent of finding their son.

Ron had afterwards shrugged and said that he didn’t want to see more families broken up. Ron’s evidence was not enough to pardon Lucius’ accumulated crimes and his sentence to Azkaban, but the underlying motivation of protecting his family had certainly helped convert it to the early release and house arrest for the remainder of his sentence. Hermione would have to ask Malfoy later, but she suspected that the granting of an early release had to do with his first Veela transformation.

Hermione was still confused over how to handle Malfoy. Theirs was a complicated history. Gone was the hatred she’d had for the git who had called her a Mudblood. He’d trodden more carefully around her ever since the slap in Third. And he never knew that she’d caught him crying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom in Sixth. She’d just finished having a cry over Ron and Lavender when he’d stumbled in. Although she hadn’t known the reason for his distress until Harry had told Ron and her about Dumbledore, she had been reluctant throughout the school year to believe Harry’s claim that Malfoy was up to something. At first, she’d thought the idea ridiculous. After the bathroom incident, she’d had a hard time reconciling the crying Malfoy with Harry’s accusations against him. She’d recognized and understood the agony of having to cover up a deep-set insecurity. He’d used arrogance and she the need to have all the answers. The facade was different, but the self-loathing the same.

***

Malfoy had told her that she was welcome to explore the house if she was up to it. He wryly noted that, normally, she would’ve been warned to stay away from the East Wing because therein dwelt a monster, but seeing as she had already shared a bed with it…

Hermione made her way downstairs and began looking into the rooms. When she entered the library and saw Lucius there, her first impulse was to retreat, but he glanced up. “Ah, Miss Granger. I’ve been expecting you. Please, do have a seat.” He beckoned her to a chair opposite him. “I… hope you will find it comfortable here. The elves have been told to provide you with whatever you need.”

There was an awkward silence following Hermione’s briefly expressed thanks. She was refraining from interrogating him on his attitude toward house-elves. If she was to be a member of the family, she had the rest of her life to take them all to task. 

“Miss Granger, I… never had the opportunity to properly thank you for your exemplary generosity during the trials. That both you and Mr. Potter—and Mr. Weasley—were willing to even speak a word in my family’s defence was more than we dared hope, given all that had transpired, especially the… cruel treatment you received in this very house. I… am truly sorry. I realize that I can never make enough reparations, but I hope that any resentment you feel will be directed to me alone. My wife and son have the misfortune of being bound to me.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I would be lying if I said I have completely forgiven you—not so much for your actions, because I can understand your wish to protect your family, but your willingness to subscribe to the prejudice around you. I _know_ it’s hard to be the one who goes against the establishment, but sometimes, the dictates of common decency… The privileged have a responsibility of protecting the unfortunate—both actual and perceived—since they have the resources and power to create whatever kind of society they choose. And why not one that will benefit the majority? I do understand that the wizarding world suffered persecution by the bigoted religious Muggles, but surely, having seen how power abuses, one would avoid repeating the same mistakes and… Oh, I’m so sorry!” Hermione pressed her hands against her warm cheeks. “I don’t know what came over me. You must think me terrible rude, and right after your apology, too! I’m so sorry, I—”

“I knew that I would be receiving my come-uppance—perhaps not quite so soon—when I realized that you were Draco’s mate. It seems that Draco has truly found an equal. I can see why International Confederation has been making such headway with negotiations in China. Oh come, Miss Granger, I may not be an active participant in society at present, but I assure you that I keep abreast of the news. The _Prophet_ still makes its way to my home. And I hope, Miss Granger, that you will succeed where Narcissa and I failed: being an only child, I’m afraid Draco has been rather used to getting his own way, especially around his mother. I feel certain that you will mould him into a man you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with. And given that we are to be family, perhaps we should get used to first names? Now... Hermione, feel free to peruse the books at your leisure. There are a few things I must attend to, so if you will excuse me...”

***

Hermione hadn’t even gotten past the third chapter in the book on Veela when Narcissa came into the library to invite her to tea. Hermione was apprehensive as she followed the lady of the manor and sighed in relief when the door opened into a large conservatory. They settled into a nook with tall windows looking out into the garden. Even snow-covered, the view still held its charm. Hermione could imagine how stunning it would be in Spring.

“Are you feeling better, Miss Granger? I know the situation has come as a shock and that you will need some time to consider things, but while you are a guest here, please do consider it your home. Now, how do you take your tea?”

“May I ask what type it is?”

“Darjeeling. This is from a tin that my mother put together as part of my dowry.”

“Oh, then I will definitely have it as is. Thank you.” Hermione was surprised to see that the older witch took hers plain as well. She sipped the tea and gasped, “Oh, this is true black Darjeeling! First flush?”

“Indeed. You have quite the discerning palate, Miss Granger. Is your mother a tea connoisseur?”

“Not really. She loves it, of course. Her uncle is a tea merchant, so she grew up knowing many varieties.”

“Ah! Then, you must have learned from him. Does he specialize in certain types?”

“Tea trading has been in the family for a few generations. We started trading in Chinese tea, and we’ve always been partial to it, although my great-uncle does have others in supply.”

“Had I known you were so well-versed, I would have brought out a different type! For the few friends who can appreciate it, I serve the Ceylon silver tips.”

“Oh, that is my favourite of the non-Chinese ones! I love its subtle flavour. If you don’t mind my asking, do you have a private supplier? I’ve looked in the tea shops in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, but they only carry the popular varieties. Even the exclusive little teahouse in Diagon Alley that only admits by patron introduction doesn’t serve anything beyond the greens. But I suppose I can’t blame them. I saw people ordering Tieguanyin and adding honey.” She shuddered.

“I do, in fact. I must introduce you to him. He will be thrilled to have someone so knowledgeable about tea. His family, like yours, has been in the business for several generations, although they are not as specialized. Given our smaller population in the wizarding world, there are fewer competitors, but that also forces him to have to cater to a greater range of preferences. I always know when he’s had to deal with what he calls the ‘Milk-and-Sugar Trolls’. He is always overly-flattering about my good taste in tea. It is unfortunate that he is too reticent to insist on educating his customers. Despite his upbringing, he is more cultured than many of the pure-bloods of my acquaintance. And although he doesn’t speak of it, I’m sure his family is older than those of some of the wealthy clients he serves. He comes from a family of merchants who greatly benefitted from the joint Magical-Muggle Embassy to China after the trade routes were opened up.”

“That’s interesting! My several times great-grandfather was also a part of that venture—on the non-magical side, of course. He provided the ships that brought the Embassy to Guangzhou.”

“Was he? Oh my, then there’s someone you must meet, my dear. I will introduce you after our tea. Would you like more of the pastries?”

When they finished tea, Narcissa led Hermione into a room whose sole purpose seemed to be the displaying of antiques and collectibles. They approached a portrait surrounded by the family’s Chinese collection. Hermione marvelled at the exquisite bowls and vases on display and couldn’t help but blurt that her great-uncle would be green with envy to see the calligraphy scrolls.

“Gwynant, I’d like you to meet Hermione. She was just telling me that her forefather was the owner of the ships that brought you to China.” 

Hermione stared at the equally intrigued and surprised portrait.

“You are Hans’ descendant?”

“Yes, he is a several times great-grandfather on my mother’s side.”

“And is the family still in the tea-trading business? I recall they became quite prominent after the wars ended in favour of the British governments, magical and Muggle alike. I… rather lost touch with him after I returned from the war.”

“ _Ohhhh_ … you must be the young wizard Hans talked about in his memoirs! The one who went as a student to the Imperial Academy of Magic.” At the mention of the school, Gwynant winced and paled. Hermione apologized for stirring old memories at the sight of his pained expression. Gwynant shook his head, but it was several minutes before he spoke.

“He wrote a memoir? He—he didn’t name me?”

“He mentioned very few names. Some I’ve gleaned over the years from other sources. I—I did look through the Ministry archives when I was preparing for my own part in the new trade negotiations, but… your name was not mentioned. Hans—he only had a few copies of his memoirs printed, to distribute to family and friends. I have a copy at my flat that I could bring… if you’d like to see it.”

“Yes, thank you. How odd to know I’m still remembered outside of the family. I am not surprised that the Ministry has misplaced records of my involvement. I can only be grateful that I have not achieved infamy after all that happened. Well, Hermione, if you would be so kind as to visit again, perhaps I could tell you a more complete version of the events that transpired than the Scourgified account I’m sure exists at the Ministry.”

***

Healer Hua came to check on Hermione the following day. She told Hermione that she was still researching the texts for a possible cure—now that Hermione was mated to a Veela, new avenues were open. Healer Hua would also be consulting with a colleague in France who was an authority on Veela. As for the Chinese curse, her research corroborated what Draco and Narcissa had told them both. The Healer would contact family in China to see if there was any way to tame the beast—there was unlikely to be a means of breaking the curse, but if the destructive instincts could be controlled, at least no one would have to live in constant fear.

After conducting a quick diagnostic, the Healer was satisfied with Hermione’s current state. She agreed with the elder Malfoys that Hermione should remain at the manor; they knew to notify St. Mungo’s if Hermione had another episode. Healer Hua also told Hermione to postpone her nuptials with Draco until it could be determined if a cure was possible—Veela possessed a very different form of magic, more ancient and potent, so it had the potential of either healing or harming during consummation. Hermione blushingly told the Healer that she and Draco had shared kisses but nothing more. Kissing was fine; it was a good way to bond with her mate, but anything beyond needed to be discouraged. Healer Hua would make mention to Mrs. Malfoy about this.

As a result, Hermione was carefully chaperoned and often had her snogging sessions with Draco embarrassingly interrupted, much to Draco’s displeasure and his parents’ amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they've finally made an appearance! Hope that’s sufficient to balance off a little bit of indulgence taken for the backstory.


	4. Part 4

Cabin fever set in all too quickly. After being cooped up in a confined space, first with Grimmauld Place, then the Forest of Dean, and later St. Mungo’s, Hermione’s acquired claustrophobia was very easily triggered. She needed to get out of this house, spacious though it was. Against Domiziana’s protestations, she donned on some warm clothing and headed into the gardens. 

As soon as the cold air hit her, Hermione calmed. And breathed it in deeply, in spite the pain the cold air caused her lungs. She spun on the spot, arms outstretched, nose pointing toward the sky. Then, reorienting herself, she headed toward the back end of the formal gardens. She remembered Narcissa telling her that there was an inconspicuous gate that led into a small English garden that had been charmed to not be visible from the house and temperature-controlled all year round with charms so that the plants were always in full bloom. One of the ladies of the manor had hated the stuffiness of the manicured French garden and insisted on having “a bit of wilderness” that she could retreat to. 

As Hermione pushed open the gate, she remembered the first time she read _The Secret Garden_ , and that impression was reinforced as she stepped inside and looked, wide-eyed, around. It was like stepping into a fairytale. All that was missing was a lamppost. And snow, of course. Beaming, she explored every inch of the garden, noting the variety of vegetation, smelling blossoms, caressing creeping vines, pressing her cheek against bark, even dancing around some of the taller shrubbery as if they were maypoles. She finally sat contently on the stone bench in one corner of the garden that afforded the best view of the entire space. She had no idea what time it was, but a small grumbling in her stomach told her it was time for lunch. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and headed toward the gate. Before returning to reality, she whispered to the garden that she’d be back to visit—every day, if possible.

Hermione put on the coat, scarves, and mitts she had discarded as soon as she had entered the garden and closed the gate behind her. Stepping back into the crunching snow, she headed toward the house but was distracted by something stuck to one of the hedges and fluttering in the wind. On closer inspection, she realized that it was a white peacock feather. The Ministry had originally had the peacocks gathered and placed in the zoo, but after they escaped and made their way back to the manor on several occasions, it became obvious that this was home. Hermione wondered if one of them was hurt, to have one of its feathers caught in the hedge this way. She headed through the opening and soon realized it was the entrance to the maze. Well, there was nothing for it but to see if she could find the injured bird.

The first thing she encountered was an empty basket. A few turns later, she found a bottle of sparkling cider, hovering in mid-air. A bowl of strawberries. An assortment of cheeses, wrapped carefully in a bundled piece of green silk. 

A few dead-ends and countless turns that left her wondering if she’d ever find her way out again and then, finally, what seemed to be the centre of the maze. A warming charm had cleared the ground of snow, and in the middle, a table had been set up for lunch. Hermione arranged the cheeses on the empty platter and then removed the other items from the picnic basket. She’d have to thank Domiziana later, after making sure that the house-elf did not suffer any punishment for failing to keep her indoors. She felt a pang of guilt at that. She’d have to inform Narcissa henceforth if she was leaving the house, even to explore the gardens.

Hermione sat down to enjoy her lunch but yelped as Draco suddenly appeared in the seat opposite her. From the groggy expression, mussed hair, and rumpled pajamas, she guessed he had, literally, been dragged out of bed. 

“Granger, what the hell is this?”

“And a good day to you, too. I certainly didn’t invite you to lunch with me. And most certainly not dressed like that and in such a foul mood. Not a morning person, then. Complain to your mother, if you dare. I suspect she arranged all this.”

Draco looked at the extra place-setting that had appeared in front of him and the foods Hermione had placed on the table. He sighed and awkwardly attempted to make himself more presentable. 

“Get comfortable and start eating, Granger. If I know my mum, there’s going to be several courses after this. May as well enjoy it.”

Both of them attempted to dispel the awkward silences by introducing topics of conversation. Hermione was secretly impressed that, in spite his antagonism toward her in school, he had been properly brought up to be a polite and pleasant dinner companion. She learned more about what happened after the trials as Draco did about the series of convulsions that had landed her in St. Mungo’s. By the time the final course arrived, Hermione felt comfortable enough to tease him about all the girls he’d had to court in his search for his mate. Draco snarked back that it must have been so much fun dealing with the old, incompetent, bureaucratic fossils that ran every department in the Ministry. She retorted that at least Shacklebolt was slowly making changes and allowing the new blood to not only suggest better ways of doing things but actually instigating them—some had even gotten the fossils to admit that the new protocols were more efficient. 

They were interrupted by Domiziana setting dessert before them. The unassuming dish turned out to be chocolate heaven on a plate. When she was finished, Hermione leaned back with a sigh of happiness. Looking across the table, she saw an answering smile. She discovered, with a jolt, that smiling really became Draco. 

Draco’s smile disappeared in a flash and was replaced with a stare of such intensity that Hermione squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. But then she felt a warmth suffuse her entire body. In a bound, Draco was out of his chair and pulling her out of hers to be pressed against his body. The taste of the chocolate on his tongue had her wrapping her arms about his neck and impatient to discover other corners of his mouth for another taste. 

In one of the upper rooms that overlooked the gardens, Narcissa smiled as she spied on the snogging pair. She noticed that the red strand had reappeared; it not only glowed brighter but had snaked up their arms. And it looked like a second strand was making an appearance. Things looked promising. She had only spiced the dessert with a simple kissing potion, so once it wore off, the pair would likely come apart with delightful embarrassment. And if anything more were to happen, well, she had her wand ready.

***

“Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for the two of you!”

Hermione broke off the kiss and looked red-faced and abashed at Narcissa. Draco scowled. 

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have arrived, my dear. Perhaps you’d like a few moments with them before Draco joins you in the drawing room?”

After Hermione departed, straightening her clothes as discreetly as possible, Narcissa patted her peeved son’s cheek. “You’ve already established that she is your mate, my little Glaurung. Surely, you do not wish to be responsible for her untimely demise? Healer Hua is confident in finding a cure. Can you not wait for Hermione to be healthy before claiming her as your wife?”

“I can’t help it, Mummy. Whenever she’s in the same room…”

“If you really feel that your self-control is that unreliable, I shall speak with your father, and we will have some deterrents put in place. Now, stop sulking and go greet your guests. No, I don’t want to hear it. She is your mate, and you must make the effort to at least be civil to those she holds dear. Now, behave!”

Meanwhile, Hermione had greeted her two best friends with fierce hugs. 

“How are you feeling, ’Mione? Ferret-face hasn’t tried anything funny, has he?”

“No, Ron. We’ve been on very civil terms and just… getting to know one another.”

“So, you’re all right with being his mate?”

“I’m still getting used to it, Harry, but I think things will work out. I might still be bedridden at Mungo’s right now if he hadn’t saved me. And you don’t have to worry: Veela can’t harm their mates without causing distress to themselves, so even if we end up fighting, I’m not in as much danger as when we were at Hogwarts.”

“So, technically, he should be upset if you’re upset, right? Great! I can hex him to oblivion, and he can’t get me back because it’ll upset you!”

“Ron!”

“Just watching out for you.”

“Well, if you really feel the need to hex him, at least wait until I’ve been cured. Healer Hua is looking into a way for our bond to help stop the convulsions.”

“She’s sure there’s a cure?”

“Not completely, but even if it’s a partial cure, it still means I’m not going to need to be admitted to Mungo’s every time I have an episode. Kothari has been more than reasonable about me taking off so much time from work, but I don’t want the headway we’ve made with the Chinese to be lost because I was incapacitated.”

“Well then, better put pressure on the Healer to find that cure that’ll make you a widow.”

“Ah, so that’s how you’re deflecting your friends’ desires to throttle me. Some Slytherin in you, after all. There’s hope yet.” Malfoy entered the sitting room and very nonchalantly plopped himself beside Hermione, draping an arm around her shoulders. 

“Good to see you fully-clothed, Malfoy. Seeing your naked backside that day was once too many. My vision was impaired for a moment from the reflected light.”

“So kind of you to notice my arse, Weasel King. Your mum know your preferences for the male physique? She’s going to be so disappointed when you fail to produce your litter of critters.”

“You’d better watch that mouth of yours, Malfoy. You may find it hexed shut someday soon, and no amount of crying to Mummy is going to help you.”

“Stop projecting your childish behaviour onto me, Weasel King. Does your mummy still have to feed you a bottle of warm milk and tuck you in at night? Ow!”

“Ha! Punch him harder, ’Mione!”

“I will admit: I’d rather be murdered by Molly than be on the receiving end of ’Mione’s wrath. Even Fleur’s temper tantrum doesn’t compare, eh Ron?”

“Yeah! I should tell Bill to soothe his wounded ego. He never cowered even when Mum was about to kill him for setting the kitchen on fire by accident. Funny how Fleur only turned a bit silver when she was mad. Guess you need to have more Veela blood to transform completely. It must really irk to be at the mercy of all that lovely inheritance, eh Malfoy? Ouch! ’Mione!”

“Lovely hex, _darling_. See, she loves me more, Weasel King! Ah! Quit hitting me, you hag!”

“Continue this childish behaviour, and I’ll do more than hit. Now, both of you stop bickering like six year-olds. If you can’t behave like a proper host, Malfoy, then I suggest you go to your room!”

“Not properly Bonded and already whipped.”

“Don’t you start, Harry James Potter! You may not be terrified of Molly, but you most certainly are of Ginny, and when I tell her—”

“Calm down, ’Mione. It wasn’t that long ago that you would’ve joined us in baiting Malfoy.”

“She likes me better, Potty. Deal with it.” 

Before Hermione could smack him again, Malfoy grabbed both wrists and pulled her in for a hard kiss. Amidst gagging sounds and coughing from Harry and Ron, Hermione found herself pressed against Malfoy’s shoulder when he finally released her lips. She didn’t need to see his face to know the smug look it sported.

“Get a room, you two!”

“Why, thank you for your concern, Weasel King! We already have one. With a sizeable bed in it, too. You’ll be pleased to know that we have a wing to ourselves, so no matter how loud she screams, we won’t disturb the rest of the house.”

“I’ve heard ’Mione’s screams, Malfoy, so don’t delude yourself: you have a girlier shriek than she does. Ron and I sampled it that day you attacked her. May want to work on scaling it to a lower register.” 

Harry would’ve continued his taunting if he hadn’t felt a sudden rush of magic that gripped his vocal chords. He saw that Ron was in the same boat. They both stared daggers at Malfoy but saw him clutching his throat and glaring at Hermione in turn. She had gotten free from his clutches and was staring back with that dangerous gleam in her eyes.

“All three of you seemed to have forgotten that I was the first in the class to master non-verbal spells. Since you can’t speak to each other like civilized people, I’ve solved your problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather spend my time doing something else than watch you bicker. And while I have you here, I’m going to conduct an experiment. The famous American author Mark Twain once postulated that if you caged antagonistic animals together, after two days, you’d find them becoming friends; whereas, the same experiment with humans only produced carcasses. Cure be damned. I’m sealing the room and returning in two hours to clean up the remains.”

***

Once Healer Hua had given her consent for Hermione to move about with complete freedom, although not enough to return to work just yet, Hermione had arranged with Narcissa to be away from the manor for a week to visit her parents and The Burrow as well as to pack a few more things she’d need to settle more comfortably in the guest room.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron were just brushing themselves off after Floo’ing when Narcissa burst into the drawing room.

“Hermione! Oh, Morrigan be blessed!”

“Are you all right, Narcissa? You’re trembling! What happened?”

“It’s the full moon tonight. Draco has already transformed, and he’s tearing up his room again. Lucius has had to put up blood wards to keep him in. I’m sorry, I hate to put you in harm’s way, but at this point, I think you’re the only one who can calm him. He—he doesn’t even recognize me…” Narcissa broke down in tears. With Harry and Ron’s help, Hermione sat the distressed witch into the nearby chair. It took a few minutes for her to furiously rein in her gulping sobs, but when Narcissa finally managed to find her voice, she begged Hermione’s help. Hermione assented.

From her pocket, Narcissa took out a silver amulet and placed it around Hermione’s neck. “This pendant is charmed to emit a high-pitched whistle when it senses its wearer in danger. It—it has stopped him before. I _would_ have provided you with a shield-cloak, but he needs to smell you to know not to harm you. I have this ready as well.” She placed a large lemon in Hermione’s hands. “Levitate that before you and blast it to pieces if needed. The scent should also deter him for a moment and give you a chance to get out of the way. Oh, lest I forget.” Narcissa turned Hermione’s outfit a bright, fire-engine red. She explained that the beast of the curse feared the colour.

Leading the three of them upstairs, Narcissa headed toward the warded door at the end of the East Wing hallway. Lucius was standing guard, facing the door. He turned when he heard them approach, and the relief on his face was evident. After ascertaining that Hermione was ready, he carefully removed the wards and slowly opened the door. When nothing came charging out, Hermione entered.

The room was dim and in much worse shape than the last time she was in it. The high-pitched screeching quickly located him to her left, and she raised her wand. Malfoy had transformed into the creature she had seen the first time she had awoken in this room, but the difference between that docile being and this slavering, raging one was frightening. Beast-Veela Malfoy was so caught up in his rage that he hadn’t even sensed her. Hermione found herself trembling and scolded herself. Now was _not_ the time to lose her Gryffindor courage! Taking a deep breath, she shouted, “Malfoy!”

In the split second it took to raise her shield, Malfoy had reacted and barged straight toward her, crashing into the shield. The shield groaned but held strong, and Malfoy bounced a step back. He shook his head, and Hermione silently thanked Harry for helping them sharpen their skills during the secret DA meetings in Fifth. She saw that the silver glow in Malfoy’s eyes had dimmed. The scent of lemon was everywhere. Malfoy had crushed it against the shield when he impacted. He was still agitated, his wings flapping with erratic beats, but he seemed to understand that he was not faced with an enemy. 

Suddenly, he fixed her with an intent stare of recognition. And then, he disappeared from view. 

Hermione moved the shield out of her line of vision and scanned the room. She finally spotted him cowering in a corner, the same one she had retreated to over two weeks ago. In an ironic reversal of roles, she slowly approached. 

“Malfoy?” His wings quivered, and he let out a distressed screech. “It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me.” Gurgling sounds now, but he was still distressed. “It’s all right… Draco.” Finally, his wings stopped twitching. Hermione hesitantly removed locks of hair from his eyes. Malfoy moved forward and nuzzled her neck, growling. She cuddled him against her, making shushing sounds and stroking his hair. 

“You really need to stop treating me like your pet cat.” He muttered to her chest. 

“And you need to stop screeching like a harpy at me.” Hermione pulled back to meet his gaze. The wings were still out, and he was still mostly silver and scaly, but there was a noticeable tinge of pink suffusing his face. 

“You know, you still have to explain the significance of the lemon.”

“Now? Fine, fine. When I turned twenty-one and discovered I was a Veela, we brewed Amortentia mixed with my semen to find out what my mate’s unique scent was. Hey, you asked! It turned out to be lemons. So, my mother lined up one witch after another in hopes of finding her. No luck. The following year, the curse hit. The Ministry condescended when my mother begged for my father’s release to help control me. The forefather who brought the curse back with him from China did research and found out that the curse-beast hates red and loud noises—”

“And that’s why the Chinese wear red during their new year’s and celebrate with firecrackers!”

“Indeed. And that’s why you’re sporting the red and the necklace. In any case, even though I could be somewhat controlled by those things and being locked into my room, we couldn’t find a way to break the curse, and I think my parents had resigned themselves to seeing the end of the line with me. I guess The Fates decided to play a joke and really get back at us. You showed up at the door at just the right time.”

“I feel like such a Cinderella right now. The Fates weren’t just playing the joke on you—I hated that story growing up.”

“What the hell is a Cinderella?”

“Muggle fairytale. Little rich girl’s father dies and leaves her to the mercy of her stepmother, who turns her into a servant in her father’s house. She grows up, sneaks into the palace with the help of her fairy godmother—who was completely absent from her life until that point—to attend the royal ball, catches the eye of the prince, and lives happily ever after with him… after a game of cat and mouse with a glass slipper that was tried on by every maiden in the kingdom until the rightful owner was found.”

“The basic shining-knight-damsel-in-distress plot. Not that unusual. Although, I suppose you think _I’m_ the damsel.”

“You _do_ scream like a girl.”

“Hmph. Wait until we’ve had sex. I’ll make _you_ scream, and then we’ll compare notes.”

“You keep deluding yourself, Malfoy, if that makes you happy. You should be thanking me for saving you from a miserable and lonely existence. Not that I would’ve lined up, but if your mother had included Muggle-borns when she was searching for your potential mate, she may have found someone sooner.”

“What makes you think she didn’t? She started with every girl from our year and then expanded to any I would’ve met while I was at Hogwarts. Blood status, House, age… all that was inconsequential to finding her as soon as possible. Are you offended that you were overlooked?”

“No!” 

“You know, you did come to mind—mine, anyway—but I didn’t think The Fates would be such pranksters. Besides, I thought your favourite drink was pumpkin juice.”

“No, but my mother taught me to eat everything put in front of me. In any case, on Sundays, I was always given lemonade for brunch. When Professor McGonagall visited to tell us about Hogwarts, she did ask if there were any food preferences or allergies I had. Mum told her I would crave lemonade if I didn’t get it at least once in a while.”

“So, you were under my nose the whole time. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“More like amazing we haven’t already killed each other.”

“I can guarantee the make-up sex will be phenomenal. Ow!”

“Well then, I must remember to complain about your ‘abilities’ often to keep that ego in check. Bad enough that I have to make sure you don’t physically harm anyone else.”

“I think I’m going to have to shut you up constantly so that I can have some peace of mind.” He proceeded to kiss her until she kissed back.

When they were finally sated, Hermione murmured, “Are you civilized enough for company? Your parents are mad with worry.”

He sighed and nodded. Standing up, he grasped her hand in his and pulled her toward the door.

***

“Granger, are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t want to be sent to Azkaban for accidental bouts of curse scaring the Muggles.”

“Just don’t let go of my hand, and stop whining. We’re going to a quieter part of Muggle London. Besides, Great-Uncle Walfrid knows about magic and wizards. He may not have seen it performed—much—but I assure you he won’t run away screaming for law enforcements if magic occurs.”

“How is it that you’ve always known of the existence of magic but never knew anything about our world prior to Hogwarts?”

“We weren’t exactly friends with wizards. Gwynant broke contact with Hans, and while the Ministries maintained some ties, the merchants on both sides established trade relations in China independent of one another. And I’m the first one in the family to show any magical ability, as far as we can tell. Oh, we’re here. And remember, call me Hermione.”

“Here” was an unassuming teashop. _van der Meer’s_ , read the sign. There were two doors. The outer led into a small foyer wherein coats and shoes were removed and slippers put on. The inner door had a sign that read _“Please ensure that the outer door is shut firmly before opening this one”_ in English, German, French, Arabic, and Chinese. Hermione had told Draco that the shop had a state-of-the-art temperature-and-humidity controlling system to ensure no excessive heat and moisture damaged the merchandise. After they entered through the inner door, they saw two Chinese-styled, dark wood, square tables with matching square stools along one wall for customers. 

Their entrance triggered a tiny silver bell, and a robust-looking man stood up from his crouching position, turning away from the floor-to-ceiling cabinet of wood drawers. “Ah, Me-Oh-My! How good of you to drop in!” Hermione gave him a kiss and received a fond pat on the cheek. “And this must be the young man I’ve been hearing about! Walfrid Atherton.”

Draco shook the proffered hand. “Please to meet you, sir. Draco Malfoy.”

Great-Uncle Walfrid’s eyes widened, and he held onto Draco’s hand. “Pardon my curiosity, but you wouldn’t be, by any chance, related to a Gwynant Malfoi, would you?” 

Now it was Draco’s turn to stare. “He’s my forefather.”

“How do _you_ know Gwynant’s full name, Great-Uncle Walfrid?”

“I have Hans’ captain’s log and notebooks that were his sources for the memoir. Shall we talk more over tea?”

Great-Uncle Walfrid entertained them for the next four hours, all the while treating them to the full tea ceremony and getting their impressions of different teas. He told Draco that he’d always liked the look of the Chinese apothecaries whenever he visited China, so when he inherited the family business, he hired a contractor to renovate the tea shop in that style. They had always avoided setting shop in the high-traffic streets because word of mouth helped filter the clientele to ones who could truly appreciate the more sophisticated varieties the shop offered. No “English blends” for them, thank you very much. 

Great-Uncle Walfrid was delighted with Draco’s discerning palate—Draco preferred the third and fourth washings of the teas, exclaiming that he would never drink a first washing again—and jumped to make packages when Hermione told him that she promised to bring some back for Narcissa. They decided on the Nepal Orthodox and the Fuding Da Bai variety of the Fujian Silver Needle. Hermione also wrangled small samplings of the Zhejiang Jie, Wuyi Da Hong Pao, and Hunan Golden Needle for Narcissa to impress her friends. Great-Uncle Walfrid also packaged some Wuyi Shui Hsien, explaining to Draco that _shui-xian_ was the Narcissus flower in Mandarin. Draco thanked him and was told to drop in anytime. 

Great-Uncle Walfrid would later tell his niece that this one was a good catch for her daughter, so she’d better make sure Hermione got all the support she needed. Charmaine only smiled in response, knowing the real facts. Having ensured that Hermione was not being coerced or mistaking gratitude for anything more, she had agreed that the two should take their time to get to know one another before formally finalizing and legalizing the relationship. Charmaine and Edmund had, of course, been filled in on everything that had happened in Sixth (and later brought up-to-date after the restoration of their memories).

Meanwhile, Narcissa was delighted with the packets of tea that Draco and Hermione brought home. She quickly had her tea set prepared so that she could try her namesake tea and declared she would be serving it at the next ladies’ tea.

***

“You know, Granger, if this is your idea of a date, you’ve been going out with the wrong sort of wizards.”

“You know, Malfoy, if your manners were the only thing to go by, people would think you either grew up in some back-alley or lost your mother at an early age. This isn’t a _date_ , just a compatibility test, if you will.”

“Wouldn’t kissing be more to the point? And may I remind you that we are _very_ compatible by that test?”

“We can’t spend all our time kissing. And yes, we’ve already established that we can match wits when debating—we knew that since we were twelve. But people—those who read, that is—have different habits when immersing themselves in a good book, and I need to know if we can tolerate being in the same room while doing so. I know I have to go off and find a quiet corner when it comes to Ron and Harry, and Ginny is forever fidgetting and making remarks to the books as she reads them. Let’s try the couch first. If we irritate each other, we’ll move to individual chairs… or different rooms, if need be.”

As they settled side-by-side, Draco peeked at the book she had pulled from the shelves. “Where did you get—?” But when he looked at the wall which usually hid the collection this book was from, he saw that the panel had slid to the side to reveal the hidden shelves and the portrait of Aunt Beathag, who guarded the hidden library, winking at him before wandering off. 

“It’s a book on Tang and Song porcelains. Gwynant told me he’d bought it in China while he was there. I’ve read all of Great-Uncle Walfrid’s coffee-table ones—and some have pictures of absolutely gorgeous pieces—but it’s always interesting to know how the Chinese view their own art. Good thing Gwynant added a translation charm—my reading skills aren’t nearly sufficient. What book did you take?”

“The one I’ve been reading that Great-Uncle Walfrid lent me, a translated copy of Lu Yu’s _The Classic of Tea_.”

“You’re really interested in the subject!”

“Better appreciation of the item when you know its history.”

“Agree.”

They soon lost themselves in their respective books. Occasionally, Draco’s concentration would be interrupted as Hermione shifted into a more comfortable position. He found he wasn’t irritated by it. In fact, he silently assented that this was indeed a good compatibility test. He wouldn’t give her the smug satisfaction by telling her, of course, but he definitely planned on frequent repeat performances.

A few hours later, Lucius was dragged out of his study by his shushing wife. As they peeked into the library, they saw Draco resting his head on Hermione’s lap, completely absorbed in his book, and Hermione absently playing with strands of his hair as she read hers. 

Lucius and Narcissa smiled at each other. Then, Lucius pulled his wife back into his study for a quiet snuggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know almost nothing about tea, especially Chinese tea, so I just looked up some top ten lists and found these. Please note that the spelling uses the Wade-Giles form and not pinyin because these have become brands, so they retained the older transliteration. I also found some rare and/or really expensive teas to mention. And Lu Yu’s _The Classic of Tea_ is a real book.
> 
> Thanks to withdrawnred and unseenlibrarian for suggestions on “dates within the manor” :)


	5. Part 5

Healer Hua began without preamble as soon as they were seated. “Hermione, I just have some questions to ask before I tell you about the cure. Have you ever masturbated?”

“Y-yes.” Of all the questions Hermione thought the Healer would ask, this was not even on the list, and she was so surprised she forgot to feel embarrassed. 

Healer Hua did not give her time to recover before continuing. “Good. That makes things easier. Have you ever brought yourself to orgasm?”

“Yes.”

“Has anyone else ever brought you to orgasm.”

“No.”

“I already know that your hymen is still intact, so we can move on. Do you think you have reached the stage of your relationship where you would feel comfortable having sex with Mr. Malfoy?”

“I—I think so.”

“Very good. It need not be right away, but the sooner the better. Now, Mr. Malfoy, have you ever brought a woman to orgasm?”

“Yes, with both of the usual methods.”

“Excellent. As you both may have already surmised, the cure will be achieved by sex magic.”

“Excuse me, Healer, would my having had sexual relations with more than one woman hinder the effects of the magic?”

“Have you been with any woman after your Veela transformation?”

“No.”

“Then, that’s fine. And you’ve been checked for diseases and are clean?”

“Yes.”

“I know that some of the texts mention that the act is more potent if both are pure, and I’m guessing that’s your concern. In the case of the healing form, however, it is better that the unaffected partner is experienced.

“After doing some more research and consulting both my colleague who specializes in Veela ailments and the Chinese team in Beijing, we’ve decided that the most effective way to heal you, Hermione, is to utilize the bond that you have with Mr. Malfoy as his mate. It is essentially an extension of the sex magic that is sometimes used for other problems, as I’ve mentioned. Before I tell you the details, I need to emphasize that this is a crucial first step in _healing_ , and as such, the sex must be completely consensual on Hermione’s part. I’m sure you’re aware that the body releases different hormones depending on your emotional response to a situation, so any produced as a result of fear or anger will hinder the potency of the healing magic. Therefore, you need to establish a safe-word. Even though Veela don’t change into their aggressive form during intercourse, they are still more driven by instinct than humans, and especially given that this will be the first time you have sex together, the desire to bond may overwhelm and make him lose control. So, this safe-word will prevent things from going too far and causing any irreparable damage. You can decide what word—of course, it has to be one that doesn’t come up in normal conversation—and after I’ve given you the instructions for the healing magic, I’ll tell you the incantation needed to embed that word into Mr. Malfoy’s subconscious.

“Because sex magic is a potent and ancient form and can also be used through the Dark Arts to manipulate, witches are especially vulnerable to its effects. As such, a small part of her core magic is instinctively honed to protect the substance essential to performing sex magic: namely, blood from the hymen. This also means, of course, that blood from the hymen is the most pristine, literally representing the most innocent form of the witch. With it, we should be able to revert Hermione’s mental state to its former condition. Although there is no harm in collecting the blood in the typical way—after penetration—it would be less messy from the perspective of the loss of control I mentioned. So, Mr. Malfoy, you’ll have to use your fingers, and you’ll have to make sure your claws are retracted completely because the venom will taint the blood. Here’s the vial you need to put the blood in—try to collect as much as possible. If there is a lot that end up staining the sheets, be sure to bring them to me along with the vial. 

“The other ingredient that you need to collect is Mr. Malfoy’s tears, specifically the ones shed after your first coupling. Veela form a permanent emotional bond with their mates that first time, so the tears shed are the most potent. Given the circumstances, it would be difficult and disruptive to ‘interrupt the moment’, so I’ve prepared these two vials to collect the tears automatically—you just need to make sure they are in the vicinity. 

“Any questions before I tell you the incantation for the safe-word?”

“Is there a deadline when we have to, um, collect the ingredients? Draco and I are still... learning about each other.”

“No deadline. You’ve been quite stable since the last episode. Take all the time you need. As I said: completely consensual. And you don’t have to collect both ingredients in one session, either. Now, I’m going to leave you for a few minutes. The one thing I do want you to do before you leave today is decide on the safe-word and perform the incantation. You can choose to have me as a witness to the incantation, but that is your choice.”

“How do we separate the blood from… the other discharges?”

“You needn’t worry about that. We can do that easily at the lab. Besides, having some of the discharges mixed in will probably enhance the effectiveness of the potion. The cure _is_ based on sex magic, so that should be expected. I’ll give you some time to decide the safe-word. Excuse me.”

When the safe-word had been embedded, the Healer watched their retreating backs and smiled. They had entered the office holding hands, and they were doing so now. The single strand of red that had first conjoined their wrists had now encompassed them so completely that they both simply glowed. The Healer’s smile widened. Soon, the red glow would disappear altogether, becoming internalized as the mate-bond completed. The potion was but the final step in the cure.

***

When Hermione awoke, she found herself partially lying on top of Draco, her ear pressed against his heart. The steady, slow rhythm was soothing and a stark contrast to the rapid thumping she had heard after she had collapsed on him last night. She smiled as she remembered. The sex had been furious and completely uninhibited by the end. But, oh, the pleasure! Her heart skipped a beat when she recalled the intensity of the emotions she felt with him. They had been completely in-tune with one another more than once. Reading about the emotional connectedness between a Veela and his or her mate was one thing. The actual _feel_ of it…

Hermione gingerly raised her head. He looked so peaceful asleep. Younger. She had been up-close and personal with many different facets of Draco Malfoy last night and seen a greater variety of emotions and expressions cross his face than in all the years they’d known each other. She had not realized how tightly he kept himself in check until she met the real him last night. She felt sure she could really love the real Draco Malfoy.

He stirred, likely sensing the loss of warmth. She brushed some errant hairs plastering his brow. He purred. She grinned, releasing her surprised breath through her nose. She had heard the sound only once before, when she had recovered from her convulsions to find his face hovering just inches from hers. She liked the sound. She’d have to find out all the ways to elicit it.

Laughing at herself for such sentimentality, she rested her head over his heart again, letting it lull her back to sleep.

***

After lunch, Molly had thoughtfully shooed the boys outside to play Quidditch. Hermione sighed in relief. Draco’s constant hovering was getting stifling, and she’d had to make sure she was sitting comfortably before he would leave. From the glint in the twins’ eyes, she knew he was getting a ribbing for being such a mother hen—worse, actually—and she hoped the teasing would force him to back off. No, force his Veela instincts to back off. He’d explained that he couldn’t understand his behaviour but neither could he stop.

“So, ’airmionay, when will ze ’appy event be?”

“We haven’t decided on a Bonding day yet, Fleur. And trust me, when we’ve found the right time, everyone will know. His mother’s been pestering us about it.”

“ _Mais non!_ You meesunderstand. I am askeeing about ze birth.” At Hermione’s confused look, Fleur understood and elaborated. “Ah! So you ’ave not realized! Your mate, ’e ’as not eezer, alzoe ’e ’as already showing ze signs. Eet is only ze pure male Veela zat can sense eet early. Ze ozzers sense eet later or learn to detect earlier from ze male Veela. Congratulations! You will be a mama, I am guessing, in ze Springtime.”

The room erupted into cheers and whoops, and Molly hugged the stunned Hermione, exclaiming at having another grandchild. 

Hermione recovered. “But—but that’s impossible! We’re not married yet. Oh my God! Narcissa is going to have a fit!”

“Oh, come on, ’Mione. Surely you know how babies come about, even without marriage.” Ginny couldn’t resist teasing and laughed delightedly at Hermione’s deep blush. “Soooo… Draco has broken down the walls, has he? Not just that one-time maidenhead blood collection, then?”

Susan laughed. “Of course he did, Ginny! I’m no Veela expert, but if they can mate with humans, then the technique must be the same. You should get checked out by Healer Hua soon, Hermione. And I would suggest moving up the plans for the formal Bonding.”

“And _you’d_ better be prepared, bridesmaid Susan. As the only one here still unmarried, you’re going to have your hands full. Given circumstances, Mrs. Malfoy may be willing to forgo the elaborate and expensive wedding I’m sure she has in mind. Oh, and there’s the venue—’Mione, how many of your family know you’re a witch? We may need a Muggle location. Morgana, can you imagine the looks on those snobby pure-blood faces when the invitations inform them they can’t bring their wands? Then, colour scheme, flowers, music—”

“Hold on! I never consented to this early wedding you’re planning! And given circumstances, I think I’ll wait until after the baby’s born.”

“What? But Hermione—”

“I’ve only known him for three months!”

“You’ve known him since you were eleven. Fine, you weren’t friends, but still, you argued with each other often enough. You know what they say about knowing enemies better than friends. And besides, you’re having his child. How much more intimately do you need to know him?”

Katie spoke up. “Are you worried about the convulsions affecting the baby, Hermione? Do you still need treatment for it?”

“No, Healer Hua said I was completely cured two weeks after I drank the potion. And when I saw her two weeks ago, she said even the organ damage has been reversed. I’ll only have the memories of the curse now. I just—Draco and I are getting along fine, but I don’t want to rush things. This baby will change our relationship, of course, but I want to really feel like we’re truly connected, not just by the Veela bond or, now, the baby.”

“’airmionay, you do not realize zat Veela bonds are based on love and not ze sex. Zat ees what you wish for, yes? To be in love wiz ’eem? I can say to you zat you would not be ’aving zis baby if you do not love each ozzer.”

“But I don’t—”

“You expect ze fireworks, ze grand passions in books? Some bonds express zat way, is true. But most are—’ow do you say?—more calm. Ze bond is about understanding everyzing about each ozzer, ’ow to be ’appy to spend your lives togezair. You feel for ’eem ze same way in fifty years as you do now. If you are steel not sure, I ask you zis: do you trust ’eem?” 

“Yes.” Hermione answered without hesitating, and then mulled over the truth of that statement.

***

Draco had never wanted to strangle this stubborn witch as much as he did now. After two weeks of wondering if he had been slipped a Wheezies product to make him act Gryffindorkish, Hermione finally told him she was pregnant and that his Veela instincts had realized the fact even if his brain had not. She even told him that she’d found out a week ago from Fleur at the Weasley Sunday Brunch, but she had needed the extra time to sort out her feelings. Well, she sorted them all right. She was in love with him but refused to marry him until after the birth of their child. The detailed whys and wherefores did not make any sense to him! But she could not be reasoned with. He tried every persuasive trick he knew, getting his mother and even Molly involved. No, she would marry him in the Spring or not at all.

Great-Uncle Walfrid had sympathized, but he had never known anyone who could change her mind once she had decided what she thought was the right course of action. It was why her parents had finally consented to having their memories erased during the Second War. And even though she had failed to restore their memories initially, Saviour Potter’s and Department of Mysteries’ help and subsequent success meant that she only learned to temper her wilfullness… somewhat. And because he could not use the guilt of the Memory Charm to sway her, Draco had lately been having episodes of regret for ever claiming her as his mate.

He pulled at his hair. She would send him to an early grave. He just knew it.

“You know, son, you’re overlooking an important factor in this whole mess.” Lucius petted him like he used to when Draco sulked about not getting his way. “Most women want to be wooed, given the grand gestures of courtship and affection. Hermione is feeling thwarted because her life partner has already been decided for her. So, you must follow all the old protocols of winning her affections. And at night, use the excuse of needing to protect them both to convince her to share her bed. When she has gotten off her high horse, she will realize the impropriety of the situation and consent to the early Bonding.”

***

Hermione dubiously eyed the carriage. When Draco said they were going for some fresh air, she thought they’d be taking a turn around the gardens. The carriage had no creatures to pull it, and even without stepping closer, she could sense the tingle of magic.

“Draco, you _do_ recall that I’m afraid of heights?”

“And that’s why we’re going to have a short ride in this carriage. It’s perfectly safe. I even added safety belts like the Muggle cars have. You need some sort of transport system, should you require it. Apparition is dangerous, and I agree with Mum that Floo’ing is too awkward with the sprog this big, and never mind the dizziness.”

“Are you _sure_ it’s safe?”

“ _Yes!_ One of my foremothers was terrified of heights, so much so that she couldn’t even stand seeing other people on brooms. Her husband had this carriage custom-made for her, and she would go everywhere in it. It even has a spell that senses life-and-death situations and will convert into a Portkey and transport to wherever you tell it to go. Just get into the carriage and give it a try. We’ll start with just some low level flying above the gardens.”

Hermione reluctantly allowed herself to be helped into the carriage and secured into her seat. Because the carriage could mobilize on its own, there were windows on all four sides of the compartment. “Definitely Cinderella,” she muttered to herself. 

At the command from Draco, the carriage smoothly moved forward and slowly ascended until they were hovering a few feet above the hedges. Hermione let out a relieved breath, and although her breathing was still more rapid and shallow than normal, she was not hyperventilating as she’d expected. She soon forgot about her breathing rate as she stared across the property to the lands beyond. It was mostly open fields and small, rolling hills in this part of Wiltshire.

Sensing that Hermione felt secure enough, Draco touched one of the levers in the control box and brought them higher so that they were now at eye level with the roof of the manor. Hermione gasped as she espied Stonehenge in the distance. Draco manoeuvred the carriage toward the sacred spot and circled them around slowly so that she could see the stones from every angle.

When they had completed the three-sixty, Hermione gave a small squeal and grabbed him for a kiss. After releasing him from another soul-searing lip-lock, Draco dazedly looked about and noticed the carriage had brought them adrift above the fields. Finally locating the direction of home, Draco steered them toward the grounds. 

“Next time we go for a spin, I’ll show you how to work the control box.”

***

“And so, Me-Oh-My, have you decided on a name for the little one, yet?”

“The list is getting shorter, and we’re hoping to narrow it down to three or four names to choose from; we won’t decide until we’ve met her.”

“Good. You always were the sensible one. Just like your mum. And while we’re on the topic, I’ve always meant to ask you, Draco, the history of your very unusual surname.”

“The story is fairly straight-forward. The family originated from France, as a branch of the Beaufoi tree. Landowners, mostly, and a direct ancestor of mine, Aleron, served as an ambassador of sorts to the French king. He was frequently sent on missions to the English court, in any case. He never revealed the true reason for the fallout with Louis XIV and, subsequently, with the French Ministry when he refused to apologize to the king, but he left the court to join with William of Orange, acting as an advisor for his campaign to invade England. The ‘official’ reason at Louis’ court for his sudden removal was his desire to turn Protestant. Those in the king’s inner circle were, of course, aware that he was a wizard, so he was only banished with the decree that if he stepped foot on French soil again, he would be executed on the spot. The family was forced to renounce him completely to prevent the Ministry from going after them. So, after settling down in England, he changed his surname to Malfoi, a final act of defiance. When our family decided to become involved in enterprise at the turn of the last century—we invested the development capital for various companies interested in excavating natural resources—we wanted to be seen as progressives, and so, the name was changed once again to its current form. The family business hasn’t changed, although we invest in a greater range of ventures.”

“Ah, so the family has been notorious for a few centuries now; Gwynant was merely following the tradition! You both had better keep a close eye on the little one. With notoriety on one side of the family and a bit of wander-lust on the other, she will not be content to be ‘average’.”

“Well, given her mother’s love of breaking the rules—”

“Hey! Her father’s not the model of propriety, either! Beaky prat!”

“—‘average’ is not to be expected. Really, ‘beaky prat’ is the best you can do?”

“My mum taught me to be respectful in front of my elders.”

“Look at you, Miss Prim-and-Proper! You’re an even bigger snob than my father, sometimes.”

“Why, you featherbrained—”

“Now, children, you know it’s not good to fight in front of an impressionable unborn. Sip your tea before it gets cold. That’s good. Now, can I interest you in a new variety that just arrived from Peru, of all places?”

***

Hermione had never felt so exhausted.

Even the trauma of being captured, tortured, and then later escaping to Shell Cottage had not been as draining. She felt like she could sleep for days, perhaps years.

Leaning against Draco’s bare chest, she let his soothing coos relax her. She knew that the birth was almost as stressful to him—she had to deal with the physical while he the emotional—and his various Veela features had appeared and disappeared at various stages during the long labour. Although it should not have been surprising, Hermione still marvelled that neither his claws nor fangs had emerged. His wings, on the other hand, were the first to break free, visible since her first contraction. When she regained her strength, she would give him a back massage.

A tiny wail interrupted her musings. Fleur had wiped the baby clean of blood and amniotic fluid and wrapped her in a warm blanket. As her daughter was settled into her arms, Hermione stared down in awe. _I have a daughter._

“’airmionay, may I present to you your daughter?” Acknowledging Hermione’s thanks with a nod, Fleur continued, “Draco Malfoi, do you claim zis child as your own? Will you raise ’er as your heir and protect ’er and ’er muzzer from ’arm, even at ze gost of your own life?”

“I do recognize and claim this child as my flesh and blood, and I give her my name and all the advantages and protection that my name bestows. Even if I must forfeit my life, I will ensure that no harm befalls either her or her mother.”

“And do you, ’airmionay Grangeair, recognize Draco Malfoi as ze sire of your daughter? Will you share wiz ’eem ze responsibilitee of raising ’er to ze best of your abilitee?”

“Yes, Draco is her father, and I will share parental duties with him. Is this some sort of old French tradition, Fleur? It’s very formal but nice. Thank you.”

“Eet is an old tradition, yes. Now zat you are both out of ze danger, I shall leave you to rest. And I will tell _les pépères et mémères_ to geeve you time to recovair before deesturbing you.” With a kiss on both cheeks to both parents and a gentle one to the baby’s forehead, Fleur departed, closing the door softly.

“Would you like to hold her, Daddy? Or do you want her to call you ‘Papa’?” Draco shrugged and eagerly held out his arms to receive the tiny bundle. He drew a sharp breath as the weight of his daughter bore down on the crook of his arm. He cooed contently and felt tears trickle when she cooed back. He kissed and nuzzled her cheek.

Hermione leaned against his free arm and whispered, “What should we call her?”

They had narrowed the choices down to three names a few weeks before. “Aelwen?” Hermione smiled and nodded in agreement. 

When Draco had tucked them safely under the covers, Hermione asleep on her side facing him, Aelwen between them, he allowed his triumph to bubble to the surface. She would be mad as hops tomorrow when she found out that Fleur had performed a traditional Veela Bonding ceremony for them, and as it was an ancient and potent bit of magic, it was also irreversible. When it had become obvious that Hermione could not be swayed to compromise about performing the Bonding prior to Aelwen’s arrival, Fleur had pulled him aside and suggested that they use their newborn babe as the means of uniting him with his mate. Draco had agreed and bided his time. It was fortunate that his usually astute mate was so worn from the ordeal of labour that she went along with the ceremony and not realized the implications. He would still offer a formal wedding ceremony, if she so required, but the deed was done. _Ten points to Slytherin,_ he thought smugly as he, too, closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to cklls for informing about pépères and mémères—a fact my French teachers failed to mention!


	6. Part 6

The Academy looked almost exactly as Hermione had expected, thanks to Gwynant’s descriptions. And having toured the Forbidden City the week before, she could see the similarities. The Academy might not be as grand, but it had a quiet magnificence of its own, a sort of cross between the palace and a Chinese temple.

When the Academy had suddenly agreed in favour of the exchange, the team had scrambled to prepare themselves. Hermione’s change of situation had caused some dispute, especially when she insisted that Draco needed to become part of the team, but her team leader knew they could not find a replacement for her and had agreed. She had also insisted that they arrive in Beijing a week early to get accustomed to the feel of the city and its culture. She brought them on the tour of the Forbidden City, made them eat at local restaurants, and let them experience the hustle-and-bustle of the population so that they would feel more comfortable interacting with the wizards of the Academy. 

As agreed, Hermione and Draco would submit to the Academy’s sorting process and only begin talks if they were accepted by the guardians. She was sorted first, and she could sense the sudden surge of energy coming at her from the four cardinals. Her daughter fluttered excitedly. She rubbed her tummy affectionately. Her baby was the main reason she was adamant that Draco join the team. The manor would likely be left in shambles if she had left him behind.

The wizard who had invited them into the Hall to be sorted now motioned her to step away from her spot in the centre of the room. She watched with some trepidation as Draco stepped toward the centre; he had even more Veela blood than Gwynant, and she worried he would not pass. Gwynant had told her of his difficulties practising the Chinese technique but had not realized that his Veela blood was a part of the reason. She sighed in relief when the Chinese wizard beckoned Draco to join them. Together, they proceeded down a long corridor. 

They were led into a spacious study, where they were introduced to the Headmaster. He greeted them cordially and beckoned them toward the table atop which a clay tea set was already prepared. Hermione presented the gift in her hands, and the Headmaster received it with a smile and bow. He opened it as they sat down and was delighted. On a dark velvet cloth lay a phoenix feather from Fawkes. Hermione explained that if the Headmaster ever wanted to acquire a wand, he need only hold the feather and say “Ollivanders” and would be transported to the shop. If he held the box and said “ _Portus_ ”, the box would transport him to the front gate of Hogwarts.

Over tea, Headmaster Zhang expressed his pleasure at having them at the Academy and the honour to have such a famous witch as Hermione spend time at their humble school, to which she demurred. He then told Draco that it was a pleasure to renew ties, the school having hosted his ancestor those many years ago. Draco recovered quickly from his surprise and replied that he was pleased to be given the opportunity to renew relations and hoped they would be stronger and more permanent ones than before. The Headmaster smiled at this, his eyes clearly revealing he knew to what Draco referred. He excused himself for a moment and fetched a box from one of the shelves. He presented the box to Draco, saying that it was time to forget past sorrows and forge new friendships. Draco and Hermione both gasped when they saw the pocket watch within. The Headmaster told them that this had been found among Yaozu’s effects when they had tidied his room. One of the students and a friend of Yaozu, Xiecheng, had explained its origins, and the Headmaster at the time had felt it prudent to hold onto it for safekeeping. It seemed his intuition was sound. While Draco fingered the watch, feeling its weight, winding it up to see if it still functioned, Hermione told the Headmaster of her conversations with Gwynant’s portrait and how he had been amazed at all that he had seen and learned at the Academy. The Headmaster smiled graciously, and the tea conversation became significantly less formal as they discussed the Second War and defeat of Voldemort, the impact of the Cultural Revolution on Chinese wizards still willing to adhere to centuries of tradition, and magical theory. 

The Headmaster explained that, after the fall of the Qing dynasty, the Wizards’ Council had been dispersed as its members either were hunted and killed or went into hiding. The Academy was now both the school and the unofficial governing body—the Headmaster still refused to turn it completely into administrative offices, so the few wizards who did help oversee law and order for the community had been given residence in a separate complex built to contain both their offices and living quarters. The current Headmaster and his predecessor had had to expand their roles to be both (unofficial) head of the governing body and ambassador to foreign visitors.

Headmaster Zhang was very pleased with this young couple. He had been stunned when informed by the guardians that the male was a descendant of the young _fazhuan_ who had come as the first so-called exchange student. His powers had scared their own _fazhuan_ on the battlefield, and in spite the eventual defeat of the Qing army, they had sighed in relief that he had not done more damage to their numbers. They had lost all news of him after that one encounter and were glad that he had presumably been sufficiently horrified by his powers to refuse further involvement. The staff had complained about his pride and the brashness so typical of the foreign devils who had arrived at court, and they had consoled themselves that they had imparted some sense of humility to him. From the female, Headmaster Zhang now learned that the young _fazhuan_ had led a reclusive life after returning home. 

The Headmaster put thoughts of the past out of his mind. The guardians had said that the male possessed even more magical blood than his ancestor, although there was a strange aura overshadowing all his magic, something akin to the guardians’ own natures. It puzzled them and almost caused them to deny him entry, but they also realized that the female was carrying his child and seemed to have a power to control him. It was more prudent to keep them together as a pair than risk separation and any fallout. The female was a very interesting candidate, one that the staff needed to nurture. The guardians sensed in her a means of reclaiming some of the harmony that had been absent for generations, since the invasion of the country by foreigners and the subsequent social upheavals. It was time to regain peace and begin the rebuilding of the fabric of unity.

After tea, the Headmaster summoned one of the students to show their guests to their rooms, promising that he would be speaking with the governing council about beginning negotiations. The Headmaster noted to himself that he would put pressure to have the talks completed as soon as possible so that more time could be reserved for the exchange of knowledge this young couple could impart.

***

Hermione was in love with her room. The bamboo furnishings gave such a tranquil feeling. And the silk bedding was simply luxurious. Even the high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets she had splurged on could not remotely compare. The Malfoys’ sheets were, of course, on par, but the solemnity and drama of their decor somehow made their guest room seem… depressing. Already, compared to Draco’s room, hers was less dramatic and intimidating but nothing like the airiness of this room. She had had to hide a smile when the student apologetically informed them that, in spite their married status—and Hermione was not about to correct him on that—it was the Academy’s rule that the males and females have separate living quarters. She had been resigned to the possibility of having to share accommodations with Draco prior to their arrival in China. She hoped the hand squeeze she just gave was sufficient to reassure his Veela possessiveness. She would need to explore the surrounding area of the Academy to find a discreet _rendez-vous_ place. Even if she could not convince him to not sneak into her bed at night, she would need a place they could retreat to, should his Veela instincts override his self-control.

Things had become increasingly calmer ever since the baby’s movements could be felt by him. She knew a Bonding ceremony at this point was a mere technicality, but for her own sanity, she needed this bit of control over her life. Changing out of her travelling clothes, Hermione succumbed to the sudden exhaustion and curled underneath the soft covers for a nap.

***

As he gently pushed Hermione further into the bed toward the wall to allow himself enough room to sit, Draco smirked. The wards around the girls’ dormitories had not even winked at his intrusion. There were _some_ benefits to having non-human blood. Resting his left hand on her shoulder, he once again contemplated Gwynant’s pocket watch. He knew it had been Gwynant’s coming-of-age gift and had been considered all the rage, for it hadn’t been that long before that they had found ways to make clocks small enough. Had Gwynant not given it to his Chinese friend, Draco himself would likely have been presented with it on his seventeenth birthday. And now, it was restored to the family, and he would be giving it in turn to his firstborn daughter. Hermione had refused to admit that she knew the sex of their child, having found out from the Healer, and insisted that they wait until the birth. But did she really believe he couldn’t tell? Or perhaps, she was attempting to play mind games, thinking she retained the upper hand. Draco smiled. Let her continue her delusions. They were Bonded where it mattered. By keeping her at the manor, his parents had ensured that it would be next to impossible for her to leave permanently—at least, not without as severe consequences to her as to him. And she did not strike him as the kind to abandon her child.

He began to coo even before realizing that she had stirred. It was a good thing they were alone. All these Gryffindorkish instincts were making a patsy out of him, and there was nothing he could do to dampen them. Thankfully, the curse-beast had been happily dormant since March. Draco had panicked during that brief moment when it surged during the sorting. He was still puzzled at the sudden affinity he felt toward the powers that had enveloped him while he stood in the Hall. He had to remember to ask either the Headmaster or one of the staff at the earliest opportunity.

***

Healer Hua had given Draco a letter to bring to her family so that he could be introduced to a Chinese healer who would see about the problem of the curse-beast. Draco had contacted them at the earliest opportunity. Unfortunately, after learning the full details and performing what felt like an exorcism on Draco, the healer shook her head ruefully and gave him a letter of introduction to her uncle, who could either help him directly or would know someone who did; this was beyond her abilities. Draco could only shake his head in bemusement when he learned that her uncle was Headmaster Zhang.

When the Headmaster learned of the curse-beast and Yaozu’s role in its perpetuation, he called for Master Liu’s expertise to help find a solution. 

Master Liu prepared the meditation room for the viewing of Gwynant’s memory of Yaozu’s curse, Narcissa’s memory of Draco’s first transformation into the curse-beast (which he’d obtained during his brief return to the manor), and Hermione’s memory of her attempt to confront and calm the beast. As the Headmaster, Master Liu, Draco, and Hermione sat cross-legged at the four cardinal positions in the room, Master Liu explained to them that they viewed memories by enlarging them to fill the space in the centre of the room ( _like a large hologram_ , Hermione thought). He used this technique when treating his patients—it often helped to physically enlarge a visual of the problem to realize that it truly was not as serious and complicated as it often seemed in the confines of one’s mind.

After viewing the memories, the Headmaster and Master Liu debated the wording of Yaozu’s curse and its implications. They explained that dying curses had especially potent powers of fulfillment, so they were relieved that Yaozu had amended his with a potential means of controlling it. Whether the beast could be released from perpetuation in the family line was still the unknown factor, although there was a story passed down of how the _nian_ was eventually tamed to become the steed of a Daoist deity known as Hongjun Laozu, whose red undergarments were feared by the beast. The Headmaster would research further into this. Meanwhile, it was obvious that Hermione already held the key to lessening the threat the _nian_ posed, if they could somehow enhance the effects so that it would not express its violent nature unless severely provoked. Master Liu explained that if exorcism was not possible, then the _nian_ would need an outlet for its anger. Taming the beast did not alter its essential nature; it only taught discipline. It was a pity that the _nian_ was dormant at this time. Perhaps, if it was still present at the end of the current lunar year, Draco could return briefly to the Academy so that they could have the experts present to witness the _nian_ ’s behaviour in a more native setting.

The Headmaster then revealed that the guardians had sensed one of their own in Draco during the sorting. The _nian_ was a magical creature like they were and had its role in the balance of the universe. If released from its current bonds, it would revert to its chaos-creating ways and be controlled and contained at the start of each new year, as it had been for ages. The Headmaster then mused that perhaps the calamities the country had been suffering for the past century-and-a-half was in part a result of the absence of a single embodiment of the chaos that could be controlled by _fazhuan_.

***

Draco squirmed. He had never felt this uncomfortable ever since having the Dark Lord in his ancestral home. True, the fear was absent, but it was of little comfort. He had always been taught to be as impassive as possible, for emotion was a weakness others could exploit. Which was why he had quickly adjusted to and adapted the Chinese façade of politeness and roundabout means of communication. But apparently, when it came to things like exorcising magical beasts, the Chinese were amazingly blunt. He’d assumed Healer Hua had learned her straightforwardness from having trained in first Germany then Paris, but no, it was a cultural habit only further honed.

Draco squared his shoulders and answered Master Liu’s question: yes, if he had not been a Veela, he probably could have fallen in love with Hermione under different circumstances. _And assuming that our past history could somehow be Obliviated from everyone’s minds_ , he added wryly to himself. But after wanking to more than one fantasy featuring the witch during their Hogwarts years, he’d admitted to himself that there was an attraction, an unwelcome, infuriating, my-father-would- _Avada_ -me-if-he-ever-found-out one, certainly, but undeniable. Slytherin and a Malfoy he might be, but he had always been brutally honest with himself. Others simply had no right to know. Until now, that was.

Master Liu continued his questioning. Did he think this attraction could have blossomed into the type of passionate, consuming love that could cause him to willingly save her from imminent death, even at the risk of his own? Draco was about to say “No” when he recalled the inexplicable reluctance he felt about confirming the identity of Hermione and her two friends after they had been brought in by the Snatchers. But was that truly a residual of his infatuation or had his Veela instincts already begun to express themselves and identify his potential mate before he transformed? That sudden thought made him hesitate. Perhaps that was the root of everything from the beginning. He replied that he was unsure.

Master Liu gave him an inscrutable look but then proceeded to probe him as to the type of wife he’d ideally marry if he could have a choice. He answered with alacrity. He would choose someone like his mother, who wasn’t a mere creature who dressed well and looked pretty on the arm. She could and did match wits with his father. She could make up her mind about things and was fiercely protective of family. Until she could no longer deny it, she had always hoped that Bellatrix’s insanity was simply overzealousness to a cause she truly believed in and supported. Narcissa knew passion, although she had been trained to subvert it with an aloof façade acceptable and expected in a witch of her social standing. In fact, Draco realized with a jolt, it must have been her sister Andromeda’s rebellion against her upbringing and the expectations of her family in order to marry her Muggle-born husband that had eventually given his mother the initial courage to seek Snape’s help. 

Master Liu brought him from his musings by asking if Hermione did not possess many of the traits he found necessary in a wife. Draco blinked. Then grimaced. No wonder his mother and Hermione got along so well. Master Liu smiled and for once did not ask the obvious. 

The healer went on to explain the purpose of his line of questioning. The amendment that Yaozu made to his curse was meant to help free the cursed person from the confines of tradition. The _nian_ was a beast of chaos and therefore the antithesis of convention, of socially-accepted norms. If it were allowed the freedom to do as it pleased, it would not wish to be confined to a single body but unleashed to affect the cosmos. And therein lay the technique to sever its ties to the family line. However, the Headmaster and healer felt it unwise to perform a more powerful exorcism, for that would likely kill Draco. What they _could_ do was make use of the bond he had with Hermione to tame the beast and dictate the conditions for its eventual release. Although Draco was reluctant to admit it in so many words, in his heart he should know that he loved Hermione and not only because she was his mate. In fact, Master Liu rather suspected that it was an initial attraction to the witch that had determined she would be his mate. Thus, the beast would be bound to him so long as she was alive. Master Liu had researched and knew that Veela would pine and die of broken-heartedness at the death of a mate and often follow her in death soon after if the pain was too unbearable. And since a Veela’s love for his mate survived her death, only ceasing with his own, they needed only to convince the beast to be tethered to him and not his line, with the promise of release upon his death. And because trust would be central to the magic, Hermione was the only one who could perform it. As an added benefit to taming the beast thus, its fury would transform its expression as an even stronger emotional attachment to her rather than a violent force causing harm to others. Master Liu would make sure to inform the watchers and their successors for the re-emergence of the _nian_ in the future, upon its release.

***

Draco and Hermione spent the agreed-upon three months at the Academy, learning and teaching all they could. They returned to England to wait out the rest of her final trimester. Before they left, they helped settle a dozen Hogwarts students hand-picked for the exchange; they brought home with them the dozen Academy students who would be studying at Hogwarts for two years. These students would live with host families during holidays, only returning home for the summer. Headmaster Zhang had been sufficiently impressed with Draco and Hermione that he agreed to have a teachers’ exchange as well. Hermione would be aiding in negotiations at the Ministry, and the Chinese Council would be sending delegates to England to finalize plans. 

As a parting gift, the Headmaster had allowed his apprentice to show them a practical application of the skills they had been taught to manipulate the elements found in all objects: they learned how to modify electronic devices so that they would not short in the presence of magic.

It would eventually be decided that Hermione would work three months out of every year in China at the British Magical Embassy and bring Draco and the children with her; Draco would teach at the Academy for that time period. As the Academy accepted more foreign embassies and forged worldwide trade relations, a separate building had to be constructed to house all the international embassies from communities who would follow England’s example to establish tighter ties with China.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The philosophical speculations as to the nian’s role in the cosmos is purely my own.
> 
> In Chinese, people are referred to as “the male” and “the female”, and these terms are equivalent to saying “guy” and “gal”.


	7. Epilogue

St. Mungo’s was hosting their annual Hallowe’en Fundraiser Ball. Draco agreed to accompany her, but he adamantly refused to wear a costume. Nothing Hermione said or threatened to do could change his mind. And so, as agreed upon, she was waiting for him in the cloakroom, to enter the Ball together.

“So, what do you think?”

The soft, flickering candlelight danced across the tops of her breasts, which were pushed together by a too-small, red lacy bra peeking out of the extremely low-cut, peasant shirt, making them seem even more full. He growled. 

“You’re not going in there in that!”

“Yes. I. am. Use that tone on me again, mister, and I’ll get Narcissa to send you back to the manor.”

“You can’t use my mother to scare me! Who do you think I am, Weasel King?”

“Just for that, Ron gets the first dance. And I think I’ll get Blaise to get me my first drink.”

“What?!”

“I’m in a flirty mood, so I think I’ll just see who wants to have some fun tonight.”

“That’s it! You are _not_ —” But Draco never got to complete his sentence, for his wings had erupted, completing his transformation. Bereft of his power of speech, he could only growl at his smirking mate. She stuck her tongue at him then proceeded to disappear his trousers and shoes and transform his robes into a matching red loincloth.

“This is all your fault, you know. If you’d agreed to a costume, I wouldn’t’ve had to go to these lengths. And now, we can go as The Slutty Belle and the Beastly Veela.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dramionedrabbles was hosting Halloween2011, so I submitted this scene, since I already had the story in progress. The prompts were: candle, manor, Veela. Slight modifications have been made to the original submission.


End file.
